Withered Lives

Like flower buds, we bloom
Springing from our mothers’ womb
Nourishment and care, we get as much as she can spare
Grow up we do with the freshness of the dew
See the sun, the light it throws
All bright and shiny, even the night as the moon glows
Tucked in the warmth of the petal like arms of our mothers, we sleep
No worries, no sadness, no melancholy in our dreams
But as life moves forward
Future reveals the present, the present isn’t pleasant
It breaks the backbone, the stem of our vibrancy
Green turns to gold, petals wither and fall
The flowers exposed, the harshness takes a toll
We wither, we suffer, life drains out with the tears we shed
Facing the sky, we beg for mercy
We ask for the shiny days but Alas!
Once a flower withers, it withers true to its core
Once done, cannot be undone
No matter the rain falling, the breeze which blows
Dies the flower with a last gasp of pain
Lies in the heap of wilderness, never to adorn the earth with its grace
Withered lives do not resurrect, they do not come alive
They bend and rot and mix with the mud
Not caring for the frost of the ground, the chilly winter winds
The cruelty makes it hard to cope, hard to breathe
One wishes to run, to die, to mix with the mud
Just to escape the pain, just for a little while.
But it is not so!
Fixed is the time for each of the flowers
To wither, to die, to rot in the end.

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