The Evanescent Prize Poem by Jester Day

I found a flower an odd little thing.
Growing between the cracks and the gravel,
in a path where wheels and feet do travel –
So exquisite, delicate, crimson and sparkling.
Existence and endurance, a value marking.
How can it be? What exactly saved it?
Was it shielded by fortune or luck?
Sheltered and secluded, by fate – or my destiny?
Not a leave brushed, not a petal touched.
While the artificial rush were prevented to crush,
that very modest, that strange salient reminder.
A virgin life, a holy bell, open-up to the sun,
thus to survive, it’s thus exposed to the tread.
I wanted to save it, I wanted to care.
So I dug my fingers, I began to tear.
Plucked it from its shelter, I shred it bare.
What was once a prompt for transitory,
perished on that godforsaken momentary.