Flower of Hours

Life is no fun when you're counting it by the hours

Life is worth living when you’re gazing at this flower

Of what has become and what’s going to be

It stands bright and strong after stung by honeybees

Storms and hail made it count life by its hour

Not to ever dream and understand it was a flower

With iconic hull, you'd never take away when you peeled it

And another petal grows back every time that you steal it

It's judicial charm is just for beauty and love

So when a gardener walks beside it has to touch with a glove

Because who really understands something of nothing that you are

I say a beautiful scar made the flower count for hours in the shade

Worrying about the gardener and when he comes back with its hour blades

A slave within its mind

But still a flower when you’re counting

Cut off its stem and watch it grow back

To exactly what it was

You see a flower counting hours should not have worried for what it would be

Hours should make a flower to what it was and what it will be

 

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741