Roots so tired,
Blossomed into reality by the healing touch
Of Mother Nature.
A backbone so green,
Aspirations reaching above it's troubled dark past,
To blossom into an image,
So fresh,
As if laughter and music had figured out a way to be seen.
Petals so loud,
Colours that make one forget the harsh whisper
Of winter's white flesh.
Nectar so sweet,
Spilling into the air a fragrance tempting enough
For the bees to stop their dance for a drink.
But,
Next to her
Sits a flower without comparison.
For whilst her petals may bloom,
This flower,
That flower,
Explodes into deafening lyrics
That silence her quiet runaway song.
This flower thought her petals were bright,
But That flower shadows her from the all giving sun
That bathes them in its warmth.
This flower starts to shiver.
The selfish hands of man
Will one day saunter through this garden,
Looking for the flower that fills his needs.
And whilst this flower knows her abduction
Will result in her corruption,
She has grown all her life for that cruelty.
And whilst this flower knows that the strangling grip
Of man
Will snap the connection between her beauty and her soul,
She wants nothing more;
Nothing more than to be chosen,
Just once.
To be seen and noticed
For all that she is and for all that she's tried.
To be looked at and wanted for the altruistic desire
Of him.
But no man will love this flower.
Because she is not That flower.
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