Budflower

22 December 2015

23:17

Last night, here I was again; brokenhearted as is the wont

Crying in the searing pain; a careless word the font

While the world slept with a clear conscience, oft rare,

And others shadows of their innate evil, like a shield or burden bear.

But how could it end… or end… or end; before a sliver of a chance

two off-chance paths to blend, together a graceful waltz to dance?

And though the heart shattered through acid tears

a cosmic joke it was not, played on an unsuspecting quarry's fears.

Battered and often bruised on the altars of love;

eschewing constantly the middle path which,

Sensible, though it is, little it offers

to the dry leaves of grasses that twitch

to save those little budflowers from certain doom --

To give each budflower what it needs to bloom.