Fallen Flower Flame
I painted the pests of parasites onto my own petals, blossoms and buds.
Wilted and weak, I remained bleak from all the blackouts.
Nauseous from ignoring mother nature's nectar, my greens grayed and my reds rusted.
My roots writhed from the rancid rain that I consumed, while the lattice of my leaves languished.
Spinning, I was thinning since my poisoned petals plummeted like falling rain.
Birds, butterflies and bees fled from me as if I was a dying star.
As I began to catch fire from my destructive desire, my thorns turned inward tearing me like a tornado.
The shame of shallow flames showed me a song of my praying spirit.
Rasping and gasping, I briskly blotted out the booze.
Patiently, I pruned my pollution.
Now, a book of blooms where my leaves prosper as pages and my roses rise as words.