Flowers drenched in rainwater
O, how heavy you must feel!
Thoughts cascading down the edges of my shoulders
Overwhelmed, by the burden, I kneel.
I bend to pick up the flowers
My mind- not wanting to be kind
It only wants to pick up the pretty ones
And leave the withering ones behind.
My heart warns myself, not to be fool’d
“Look down at your own hands” it says
Graceful and delicate, now they are
But failing the tests of time one day
your own skin will slowly wrinkle away.