To feel is to love, to live, to lie,

To know and own thought.

Not everyone can feel the way they please,

Not everyone is that lucky.

A spring flower blooms,

Dazzling and original.

It lays anew,

Until it is devoured.

Consumed by society that once fed it,

Darkness has drawn its purity.

The petals crumble at the feet of the lion,

But forth the beast prowls on.

They are wisped away,

To lay softly in the riverbed.

Calming peace is instilled upon the shattered.

It carries on dreaming, hoping only that life had been…

Different.