Flowers hung upside down,
Their moisture drying up
In the darkness of closet shadows.
I am envious of the ease,
The simple ability to preserve
The beauty, the meaning, the happiness
Of such a simple joy in life.
I want someone to preserve
My own beauty, meaning and happiness,
But I know that is asking for a miracle.
Humans don’t preserve,
But fade into the cycle
Of a natural darkness.
It is the comfort given to those,
Who have yet to discover
Their own beauty, meaning or happiness.
I am not a flower.
