The Bloom

Nowhere to hide
The light shines
Even when your eyes are closed

Things long buried
Fertilize the flowering future

Roses bloom
What colour are yours?

Mine have petals that share the spectrum
Marigold maybe
Sometimes White
The thorns are always sharp

It is a cruel garden
The soil, rich with
Water
Blood
Piss
Sweat
The dead

It is bountiful
Brush stroked by the artist
That sits
Weeping at the easel

Creating a world he cannot stand
To love
Any more

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