Dedicated to an adorable dork.
Motionless and still,
Lay the solitary flower on the pavement.
Hopes of being picked up; nill,
But fortunate it is to find itself in the shadow of a figure; bent.
Wrinkled leaves and gray petals,
Obscure its prior allure comparable to snow-white pearls.
Yet the figure's eyes portray lustre,
And its hands caress the scabrous flower.
Hand clasped around the frail stem,
Face; beaming and eyes; twinkling,
He sets off in silence, not a single word does he mutter.
The sickly flower anticipates its fate,
Among the rickles of waste.
But perplexed it is to find itself floating in a water filled vase,
Oblivious to her renewed joy's cause.
Inside the vase, seated on the window sill,
She witnesses the lush hills.
And the lovely sky;
Not a single cloud obscuring the deep serene,
Yet amongst all the appeal, her benign rescuer is nowhere to be seen.
Tick tock,
On the clock.
The radiant luminary dipping in the dark,
Leaving behind pink and orange hues, melting into each other.
Tick tock,
On the clock.
Just as the flower droops,
She perceives the scraping of a chair on the floor,
Being dragged towards her, leaving not a doubt,
That considering slumber was a bloop.
Jolting up and sending tiny water droplets his way,
Eyes locking yet no talking.
Mouths breaking into grins,
Before the air fills with mirth.
And fellows, that's how the journey begins,
In the darkest of nights,
Their souls; ablaze.
The scariest of frights,
Spilled, the duo; amazed.
A puzzle he is,
Piecing together of which is a terrifying bliss.
She sparkles with joy,
But what's a sparkle without a Burner, my boy?
YOU ARE READING
Symmetry
Poetry"There is Sun and storm in every blossoming. That is where the poetry lives" All rights reserved to @destellos_, 2016.
