At times I feel lost, like I'm wandering
through lush forestry,
picking the pretty flowers
that probably don't belong here
because they look like they'd make the best
first impression, leaving the ugly, thorny weeds
But they spread,
by some innate instinct to fold,
I take the flowers that I want to boast
and view them again,
hoping with each passing glance
that they'll grow
golden and refined.
Instead, they dim slightly,
petals pursing in rebuttal
of the light they once held.
The weeds and vines have staked their claim
amongst this density
and continue their expansion,
yet among them sprout more beautiful flowers--
gleaming despite the pain.
A rushed work, but the first real thing I've written in years. Thank you for taking the time to read it.