Junkyard

6/2/2021

A flower grows
In a well-kept garden
"So pretty,"
All the passerby's say.

But as it grows older
Spreads its roots wider
It will come by some weeds
Wicked with their thorns
Cunning with malicious horns
They upturned earth
And scratched its stems
Soon the pretty flower
Will grow its own
Claws and thorns and horns
"A magnificent adaptation,"
Remarked the gardener.

The flower grows and grows
Protected now by its own fort
So haphazardly
It has decorated itself
So caged does it feel
It likens itself
To a moth
Trapped in its own cocoon
But shells cannot last
Its petals will bloom
Shredding through
All protective membrane
When ready to pluck
What will it produce?
"A beauty beyond any!"
Guessed the picker.

In its new garden
The flower meets new others
Flowers of its own kind
Flowers with their own
Moulted cocoons and
Broken-before stems
Flowers that it could trust
But is it right to entrust?
Flowers it could grow by
But is it right to
Let down its guard?

The days that are
Those days that were
Safe and warm and kept
They are windblown
The flower grows and grows
Thriving through the frigid
Stems crisscrossed
Seeds exchanged
Roots knotted
A jungle grows
In a single flower's stead
"Will they fare well this summer?"
The children murmured.


The summer nights were
Treacherous.

When a new year arises
The picker met the gardener
Scratching their heads
They struggled
Among the tangles
Where is the blossom?
So once magnificent
So once cherished
Loved and admired by every
They searched and searched.

Unknown to them
At edge of their garden
Towers a wicked plant
Growing stronger
Boasting of curved thorns
Gem-like petals and fronds
Barbed roots that still
Strangled its enemies
A flower that has
No more needs.

It will grow and grow
Succumb, then dominate
"An unimaginable perfection."