The Life of a Flower

[isha johnson]

Oh, to have the beauty of a flower...To have delicate petals that glow a wide range of vibrant colors. And to smell like the sweet kindness of the earth.

Oh, I would be admired greatly by the world! Studied like the magical life form I am, captured in paintings to allow me to live forever. People would speak highly of me and favor the time of year I come around. I would be held as a symbol of love. Simply existing quietly would cause people to stop on the street to appreciate the intricacy of my beauty. And as people stopped to stare, they would lightly brush their fingers along my petals.

Oh, but their admiration becomes too much to bear. I realize that the beauty of a flower is to be ripped away by my knees. It is to be taken away from home, taken away to be used as a trophy of another's love. A love that isn't even for me.

Oh, how I would cry tears of fallen petals as I feel my beauty whither! To be admired so greatly by the world is to be discarded once my time is near. And in that very time, I will lay down and die, mourning the livelihood that was once mine.