The life

Of a flower

Is to wilt

To die

And so

To live

Again

i was once

a tiny flower

growing in the cracks

of cement

barely noticed,

overlooked

as just another aspiring

little

flower.

but then,

then my petals

collected the sun

sipping angelic

colours

and growing

with dewy drops

glistening for all to see.

and people saw,

saw my beauty rising,

flourishing,

expanding

beyond the grey

beyond the expectations

beyond the other flowers.

but that was a long time ago,

i bet you don’t remeber it,

remember me and my flower persona,

because the world has grown cold

and my petals

collect frost

so i freeze

with the winter world.

i am a dying flower,

becoming once again

something you didn’t notice.

/No one ever told me I’d have to say goodbye\

I always thought people like you and me

《Went on for eternity》

Now I see that people are like flowers

•Withering under the heat of life•

Eventually fading away to nothing but brittle petals

~A ghost of what they used to be~

It saddens me to see a bouquet of roses

/◇/Seemingly discarded at a grave\◇\

But now I know they’re just a picture of you

+A person that once breathed and lived like a flower+

Turning their face up towards the sun

●Just to crumble and die when the snow came●

Disappearing without a trace

|As white blanketed the ground with an icy hug|

I miss you like the winter misses spring

(But I hate you like the spring hates winter)

Once upon a time

you gave me a flower

Just because you thought it might

bring a smile to my face

during a hard time.

It did.

Sunkissed yellow petals

on a sturdy green stem.

I treasured it, put it in water

looked at it every day.

Then life got in the way,

things moved,

busyness ensued,

and while my back was turned

that cheery token from nature

died a little more each day.

Until one fateful moment

its wilted stem and fragile petals

unknowingly

found its way to the wastebasket.

I wish I’d paid more attention

pressed it between a book or

simply

saved it in photograph form.

I’d have rescued it

if I could

like an abandoned pup.

It’s gone forever

except in my memory

but even that

is a poor reminder.

So I’m etching that image

into the words of this poem

and I’ll look back at it

every now and then.

You might think

I’m a sentimental idiot

and you might be right...

But let me say something

You might never know

just how much

that little gesture of kindness

brightened a dim heart

once upon a time.

She played her violin

to the dying flowers

after they pulled down

those twin towers

the poppies in Afghanistan

where her choir they

soothed her to sleep

killed the pain

now her petals

fall to the dust when rainbows

and now before she plays to me

injecting afghan brown is a must

the violin she plays is slow but it sounds like dying flowers at every show.

watch

the

crumpled

petals

flutter

onto

the

table

and

crumble

to

dust

because

everything

beautiful

must

perish

I taped the flowers

upside-down

upon my bedroom wall

in hopes to keep

eternally

the memory of

our love;

the color faded

the scent grew weak

the petals

became stiff and hard

but their

lifeless beauty

is beauty still

and remains

a testament

to our love.

The teslas outnumber deer

the grass (turf) cost

6,000 dollars

people on deck chairs

on computers

and the

wilting flowers

are molded

polyester.

Grandpa and I planted the sunflower seeds in the garden, one hot, dry summer when I was four. I love my grandpa, he is so kind, he always speaks lovingly. He never yells as grandma does, she’s scary with her witch voice.

Grandpa and I water the seeds daily and watched them grow. They grew and grew and grew they grew taller than Grandpa, oh my I didn’t know. Grandpa said soon the sunflower’s seeds in the middle would be good enough to eat. I couldn’t wait, it seemed like FOREVER.

It’s been days, Grandpa hasn’t been here to water the sunflowers, they are withering and dying. Grandma says grandpa is in the hospital, he’s very sick and probably won’t come back home.

My head starts spinning with questions what does that mean won’t come back home where is he going? Why doesn’t he want to come back home? I ask grandma my questions she says he’s dying from lung cancer from smoking cigarettes. I didn’t understand, I asked who was going to water the sunflowers? She shrugged her shoulders like she always did, saying she didn’t know, not her.

I watered the sunflowers the best I could I took a bucket and tried to do what grandpa did when he got the water, I placed the bucket under the spout then grabbed the handle that was too high to reach, so I had to go find a chair, and I did. I pushed down on the handle and it wouldn’t move.

So I walked down to the creek and scooped up some water from there. I carried it back splashing most of it out of the bucket as it was too heavy for me to carry. But I did it. I watered one of the flowers. I had enough energy to do walk to the creek once more.

No help from wicked grandma. All she does is sits in her rocking chair and reads her romance novels all day long. She won’t even look at me when I try and talk to her. She is so mean. ” Please come back, grandpa”

Grandma saw me coming back with the bucket of water and asked where I got it. I told her the creek. She took a stick off the tree and hit me over and over with it telling me not to go there again. It hurt so bad and I didn’t understand. I asked how do I get water? She said “YOU DON’T”

One by one the flowers started dying until only 2 were left. The two I was able to water, but they were withering and slowly dying too. 2 days later grandma said to me “your grandpa is dead we are going to throw the dead flowers away too” and that’s what she did.

She threw away my grandpa, the sunflowers, and my heart.

Athena

We grow surrounded by darkness, to enjoy life in sunlight, and then... In the end... Wilt away with the garden surrounding our grave.

The first struggle we all start with is growing in the darkness. This is when we rely on others to nurture us. Feed us with the nutrients we require.

To survive, we need the warmth to seep into the darkness.

After the beginning of life, we live life in a cycle. We are born, seeing the brightest light our eyes will ever see.

We start young, making memories that help us bloom into the beautiful flowers of adulthood.

As an adult, we produce the seeds for the next generation. We want to receive the love and time the bees provide to us. They keep us fit and health, so we can pass on our seeds, begin the next lives. With their dedication, we produce our little ones, carry them until it is their time, only to watch time for us to pass rapidly until we begin to wilt.

After a lifetime of being in the sun, soaking all the warmth, we find ourselves in the darkness. This is when the memories of our lives are the only things that keep us warm. Our skin fades, and our bones turn to ash.

The petals die and fall to the ground above us.