The flower

Incarnation,

As graspable as wind,

Spurs me to wonder

If one of those I loved,

had passed,

now be in the form of a flower.

Ignorantly,

I pick it,

And give it away

In search of love.

Sometimes I host a trickle of thought

Which seeps into my dead mind

And takes refuge there

So I may see a flower as love

Instead of a tool for seeking.


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OstensiblyAwsome
Poetry
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