I shout to the blossoms,
“Speak to us of love!”
“Tell us what’s right and what’s wrong.”
For I fear while fighting for my life,
I may have forgotten.
And you may have never known.
Their pink petals sneer at your example of compassion.
I tell them to give you a chance, just wait and they’ll see.
But they’ve lost hope, they’ve gone away.
So here I stand with your heart in my hand,
While mine lay on the floor by your bedside.
Close enough to where it needs to be,
But far enough to make it bleed.
As the blood seeps into the carpet, you complain about the stain.
Anger and despair seethe inside of me, threatening the balance.
You look the other way.
It comes spewing out in uncontrollable fire,
Putting it’s mark on everything that once glistened.
I thought the blossoms could teach us something,
I thought they could show us how to grow.
But maybe our love has a ceiling,
Maybe we’ll never know.