An Absent Flower Poem by Westley Douglas

A bloomed flower in the middle of winter. Deprived by the lack of sun and warmth it needs. What is it doing there, where will it go. Comfort was a dream, his dreams were dreams. It shivers, for the attention to be held, but realizes the cold offers no comfort. "When will the sun come out, when can I become me." In a world of falling snow, why had this sole life developed. He watches, jealously hidden in the depths of his stem, as the flakes trickle from above. Flying, free, Together. Shaking off the frosted falls leaning onto his pedals, relying on strength, scared to move on when given the chance. Why do they deserve this, what had they done to fly. The flower can see nothing, hear nothing, and feel nothing but the limited expressions of the falling flakes, and slowly turns in on himself. What had he done to be put upon this dying tree, not among the flowers of life or a single shared mind. The pedals fold faster, the pain begins to fade as the flower forgets himself and his individuality. Another falling being from above is all he wished, the pedals almost sealed. Vision had not consisted of colors; the black and white of his surroundings enveloped his world. Confusion but more so the world of curiosity found his heart as a dead fallen leaf climbs upward. A break in the one direction; this leaf climbed the bare sky toward him, toward his branch, toward more. He reads this leaf, the vacant veins that stretched through the dry extension of the cracked leaf. She planted herself upon his branch, so close this boy had not known what to make of the situation. He breathed, he thought, he stretched out, but he did not grow. For the room of growing was in her, the stem of the leaf dug deep into that branch and she spread herself flat to catch the falling snow. She carried all that fell on her, all that which was in her reach hugged her. A magnet to the weak, how dare they touch her like that. How dare anything touch her, but she took it, and he watched her shiver, crack a little more, and find no support within the bloodless tree. He thought she was gone, but he had not taken any of the snow from her. The coward, the selfish bloomed flower, the boy had not become a carrier. He turned his back to her and watched the lifeless flakes fall. This is not where it ended though; fate cannot withhold that flower from living. In knowledge that he had not known, the flakes changed forms, literally disappearing into her cracked, broken body. A flower blossomed in the cold winter storm. Her presence became undeniable and the little boy turned back to her. A full flower this girl had become, trumping what he thought was bloomed. The little boy realized life was up to him, and his determination to share a coupled life in the falling snow storm. He looked at the snow, but had not touched it, there was the deprivation of a wanting to touch anything of the sort. He merely grew off her presence, but her strength was her own. He had feelings he never knew existed. He was ecstatic, nervous, but mostly drawn to this flower by an unexplainable force. They touched, but he could not talk, for her presence and strength left him speechless. A split in the wall above their heads formed. Such a thing was not familiar to him, but she stretched towards it. A hand and its 5 fingers came down with the sunlight and warmth he had felt from her, one in the same, a sun she had become for that lone flower. And a sun was what she stretched for, the hand plucked her, with knowledge of the precious being she was and lifted her from this wretched world. She did not look back, for he was not the sun she needed. The clouds parted, too fast for him to call out, too warm for him to feel deprived. Then it was closed, the harsh wind picking up again, hitting his sides, he worthless flakes flying. "Why can't I fly? " he thought. He had grown enough in her presence to realize that there was more, but what was lacking was the strength in him to achieve more. The lone flower plucked himself from the bloodless tree. The tree did not say anything to him. This lone flower climbed to the edge of his branch that he had gotten so close too, and watched flakes fly. "How can they but not I? " he asked, was he not worthy, he just wanted to fly away, into the sky, back to her. He jumps, and the sensation of flying takes over him. He did not open his eyes but flew where he felt he belong, back with her. He lands on a cushion, confused the little man looks around. He was lying lonely upon a white blanket looking up at a wall of clouds sending their snow flying. He could not think, could not feel, could not live as the flakes fell upon his eyes and body, entirely engulfing him to the point of a world of blackness.