The Song of Her Non Blossoms

She walks upon the seeds That should have been planted And cultivated as her life Only small, dried, would-have-been Blossoms all strewn along this dusty Narrow path of stones and somber memories Spiked with resolution She picks up the non-blossoms And packs them up in a pretty Treasure box She keeps it in the darkest corner Of her closet And remembers them each day She chokes on them And they cut her throat With their hard to swallow truths