Too Simple to See

Plenty has been taken from me

by Man.  As you know, it takes much

 

more than just simply existing for me

to give anything to anyone.  I rarely have

 

anything, other than the dying

animal I’m tied to, to offer any

 

solace even through winter

solstice. You know this ecliptic

 

called home is the farthest from

the Equator.  At least there isn’t six

 

months of darkness here.  I keep myself

budded up and bundled in layers of frocks

 

to keep my diminishing flesh safe

from the elements, the harsh wind.

 

You were told before, unless my soul

becomes overwrought with empathy, only

 

then my hair engulfs my face as corn silk and yellow

pedals falling so delicately in the bowl

 

made for roses.  You know as well as I do, the only

time to witness beauty it is always

 

among the ones whose heads

have been hacked off or their buds

 

snapped away and given as tokens

of Love.  A dying thing becomes

 

the gesture of Love.

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