It started as small engine,
Buzzing,
Of the insect wings.
The ballet between the stem,
And the seducer.
The blossom to be violated,
With the natural lust,
Of flight.
The swelling tummy,
And promise of peace,
Of fulfillment and joy.
And gods own
Breath upon the skin.
Hope that fights,
Against an early frost,
Hides from the aphid's teeth,
And swallows beak.
Proud mother glowing from Color,
Of a slow ripening fruit,
Upon the branches.
Basking in the sun and moon,
And growing bolder still.
Praying for the moment of release,
Never turning to watch the tears,
Left in it's place.
Walking,
Running,
Tumbling,
Falling,
Wanting, yet
Knowing never,
To be collected.
Left here,
Upon the cold
Dead leaves of ancestors.
Eaten away with decay,
Taken by the disease,
Of this earth.
As tears fall from high,
Only to shatter
Against the frozen ground.