Its funny how as a child you are told things
and you don't think about them again
Till you’re an adult

And suddenly few strings of words
Become the deepest well of reflection

So my grandmother
Told me People are a lot like flowers
And that it's sad that's true

Today I passed a flower vine
Lavender little bells
Strung amongst a vine wrapped around an old broom

The flowers were plain until today
And the insteps of the petals were bleeding light pink
The broom had been removed from the vine
The flowers had never been prettier

Some Flowers have to hold on to something to stay alive
Choking ;breaking
And only become beautiful, once they let it go

Only beautiful
Once they begin to Die