Spring Flood

Last year the fields were dust and bone, The rivers whispered in dirt and stone. The sun stood high, a ruthless king A crown of fire, heat never-ending. It saw itself in glory and pride And looked at the Earth in arrogant snide “See me, how I’ve grown into a King, Without me you wouldn’t be anything” On the ground, far below The flowers tried to stretch and grow But their roots found only thirst beneath And soon there was nothing left to reap. They wilted, some in fear and hate, Left silence- empty and desolate. The Sun looked down in stunned despair “Oh no I’m sorry – I’m un aware I just Wanted all to see, how I have become a better me” It fled in a bought of gloomy rain To grieve and repent for the suffering and pain. Seasons turned, as seasons do And soon the great thaw gave way to blooms. From sleeping seeds and smothered breaths, The flowers arose from the dead. They laughed and sung and danced in bands, Waving their petals like music fans. They sung forgiveness to the golden skies, “We forgive, though you watched us die, We understand that fires burn But now its spring, we must return”. The sun shone down with a meekly stare, Its brilliant rays no longer proud or flared. It heard its pardon, the flowers’ reprieves But it could not shake the guilt it had buried deep. The sun, ashamed, began to pour Its sorrow down forevermore. The clouds, they gathered, bloated and dim, The air grew thick, the sky turned grim. The river swelled, out of its bed The water rushed and rushed and spread. It tore through roots of daisy and lily And swallowed the meadows of the Mississippi. The flowers, once so brave and bright, Were drowned beneath a falling light. Their stems went limp, their petals bled Not scorched this time, just softly dead. The sun burned on, behind the veil, A ghost behind a cloudy jail. It couldn’t find forgiveness in itself, So please next time, forgive yourself.