Van Gogh's Flowers

Your garden is-dull.

The ground is-dry.

Blades of grass are scared sharp and pointed dry.

The pebbles are not shining.

The surrounding whiff is damp and dusty.

Do you know Van Gogh's flowers?

Your head turns towards the sun. 

To see the shadow which lunged over you.

A leaf falls like your gaze did.

Others cannot rake the damage.

You are ashamed of the deliberate neglect.

You grunt as you dig.

You sigh as you weed out the memories.

The shrivelled root is not your stronghold.

Do you know Van Gogh's flowers?

You do not know.

But pretend that you do.

Just like the times you pretended that the garden was taken care of.

Tended to.

And watered.

You unhunch and stand. Your head is not high.

Your strength is low.

You cannot grow.

Anymore.

Would you like to see Van Gogh's flowers?

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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