Based on this prompt by @dailypoetryprompts
FADING FLOWER
Here I am, decaying in a vase,
Weeping petals like sickly sickle moons,
Grieving for the life I haven't lived.
You ask what my expectations were?
A summer blooming among thorns,
Being the softness among the sting of the world.
Yet softness can sting very well
All on its own. It can turn the blades
Against itself and weep
Blushing mournful blood moons.
I cry for the life I haven't lived.
And yet I once was a seed in the dark
That knew no moon or star
And I bloomed.
Maybe I am here to learn that even decay
Can defy the wildest expectation.
F. P.










