an orchid, unappreciated, in the hour, of its color
a tulip, traded for a house
all of its potential beauty
measured, before it blooms
What happens after the flowers bloom?
they were kissed, and felt, only so many times
Sometimes, their petals get pressed between dusty pages
like old, dry, photographs
semi-colorful, semi-bright, mummies
with their skin stretched tight
folded across coat-hangers of bone
like distended bellies, that never bore any children
they were snipped, and plucked, thrown at weddings
and trampled on
Love is a rose that is loved
tears are more special than raindrops
we can’t keep ourselves alive
without emotional rainstorms
in the desert, nothing grows, but prickly cactus
because they hold their tears in
and hope for far away clouds.
Everything, leading up, to that, anticipated, moment in time, then after that precise, moment, the world, forgets, that, is how, everything, goes…
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It seems like it! To be remembered for a thousand years–that would be good to, but you just never know, or maybe you do. Thanks for reading and commenting Taurusingemini!!! 🙂
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