PAINTED PETALS
Enslaved by the minute, white flower with petals abound,
With only one petal lost, significance is absent.
Sights, sounds, life, all fly by, whisk by for all,
But not for me, not my life.
Oh, that wretched color, white how I despise you;
Such novice embellishes me as a chain around my neck.
Youth, vibrant, hopeful youth, nay,
Wisdom of the years, respect, oh, how I yearn.
Across the way, a flower of red shines ever so bright;
A man carries this symbol of bold, vibrant passion.
A color for the bull, the fierce, powerful beast,
Courage seeps through the few petals that remain.
Upon the street corner, a woman with chin high,
Poise and elegance glisten upon each pink petal.
Sophistication accompanies each fine step,
For a mere drop of pink, my petals cry out.
A flower, brown and weary, lies in the hand of the broken;
Broken and battered, how dare you mope.
Upon your bloom, life, though dark, paints your petals;
Rewarded with color, yea be blessed.
Why must I lack color, beautiful charismatic color?
A tear drops onto your countless petals.
Sun, glimmering sun upon this drop,
Only you can make this dull flower shine.
Shackled by mere youth, freedom I seek.
But wait, could my eye be teasing my soul?
There, before me, a woman wrinkled with time,
In her hand, a stem flaunting one white petal.
Upon this delicate flower, the lonely petal stands strong,
Oh, how could I have been so blind?
For what on this earth could be more beautiful?
Than a hungry mind, a budding spirit, a heart of a child.
