Katherine

17

Flower in Bloom

Sun on its leaves,
Bright upon green,
This flower is ripe,
With sun and water,
It is green upon green,
In this sea of grass and trees.
In the height of summer,
As the ground turns dry,
And life itself shrivels and dies,
The flower is not quite in bloom,
But survives and waits.
As light turns dim and fades,
Blotting out the flickering light faster,
Shadows give way to the bleak,
For Death in the moonlight,
Gives whispering hints,
Of a time when green is black,
And light is not warmth,
But pain.
Still the flower is wavering,
Wondering, thinking,
What will it be?
When it is as black as night itself,
When it is on the edge,
Of aging or blooming.
Will it be a weed in the grass,
Simply existing,
Seeking the coolness of darkness,
Its roots buried so deeply,
To burn others that encroach upon it.
Or will it be a burning martyr,
With a spread of its angelic wings,
Giving light when most needed,
And fading away so others may live.
Darkness may be eternal,
And light so fleeting.
So when the flower blooms,
It does not believe in its death,
For it has lived on,
In the explosion of light,
A glimpse into what could be.
Others will see it,
Some will not,
But while the flower in bloom,
Is no angel in disguise,
It is eternal in the lives of others.
Flower, flower,
When will I bloom?