The flowers are dying
and while they try to buy more time
we are ever watching
waiting for the time to come when they just give up
when they exclaim in their small voice... enough
why do we pressure beauty to be more beautiful?
As if we are any more dutiful to our own selves?
The flowers look at death not as a punishment.
Nothingness to them is as a reward.
We see these flowers, dead, wavering in the wind.
Are these Beauty's less deserving then your own kin?
Should they be shamed?
Should they be blamed?
and picked on
Because they are small?
Any we allow these 'tall' and 'significant people come, and maul these flowers.
And we just sit and watch as they fall
gently down to the floor.
Flowers have hearts too.
Even if its in lue of those who lead a better life
Do what the flowers feel not equal that of a broken bone?
As they grow an ingrown heart, and they wish that it could be cut away.
Dont tell me there is no way for it to metastasize, it does.
And the flowers are dying...
and we stand here watching... not even crying.
Why? Because life will always be like a balancing act, that has less to do with beauty, and more to do with feeling
Comments about this poem (Flowers by Erik Gillette )
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