Wither

Don't count the flowers..

in the darkest of hours, we count the flowers..

we blink our eyes, & in countless seconds, they wither & die..

even the fragrance slips away.. the petals dry out, & make that sad crunchy sound.. 

did someone forget to change the water in the vase..?

maybe they never should of been put into a bouqet.. 

 

scatter the remains across a green field, you get down & kneel..

looking off into the horizon, you pray.. 

God why, why couldn't they of been saved...? 

collapse into the grass, take a deep breath, at last..

your hands graze over the dead flowers, & clovers.. 

looking into the bleak sky, those eyes had nothing left to give..

so just cry.. this is the life you've lived.

no rain.. only clouds..

no light.. just that painful sound..

the wind caressing limp petals off the ground, to somewhere they can have inner peace.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

2.20.13