If loneliness were a flower,
it would be the most blossomed bloom in the world—
yet loneliness is but a heart, root-bound,
beneath the earth’s tender breast.
It is only the image of a flower,
etched on shattered vases,
on exposed chests
where light and shadow ripple—
waves across the mirrored shards
of flowing hearts.
If loneliness were a yard,
then this broken heart
would be the world’s
most blossomed garden.
