(Sounds much better out loud,
first two lines written in required format,
words too, kinda.)
O love
you gray flower
wilting in a garden of weeds.
I had tended to you
once
but my hands grew tired
from planting and replanting my
youth
and sowing seeds
for a future growing dim,
soon to turn off like a street light when the sun comes up
O love
you gray flower
you are the soldier face down in Vietnamese soil,
the gun-shy fool who couldn't pull the trigger.
You
you are the lost child
you are
the virulent Picasso
you were brimming with promise
hope and florescent light,
you now shrink away from my touch
as though it were drenched in acid.
O love
you gray flower
you old widow drinking sherry and inhaling cigars, filling your lungs with
dying promise and translucent hope.
You were the world to me,
but time has eroded that world
and the street light has burned out.
O love
you gray flower
wilting in a garden of weeds,
I tended to you
until your thorns pricked my finger
and now my body is tired,
and I can no longer tend to you.
