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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