the petals of a wilted flower, carry with it the spores of many lives.
found in-between the cracks of concrete and steel,
the boundless love of a wilted flower carries within its womb;
the hope for a new life.

with every kind flower, a tear falls
and with every tear, the excuses start to grow weaker.
the butterflies cluster around the oozing miasma of a broken but kind flower.

but even through the concrete,
a flower learns to rage,  
to expand,
like a silent rebellion beneath the rough and against all odds.

surely, it will bloom.

again, you will bloom.