XII
For the one who inspires the tide. For anonymous:
i strolled amidst the buds of spring. beneath the streetlamp glow of the setting sun. more graceful then, than i had ever thought real. i restrained my joy on hills and plains. beneath trees that rhythmically danced with gust. i had chosen then, in eternal bucolic wisdom, to feign contempt till the rage burned red before my eyes. that night i set a path lined with early flowers. they hid their petals from my sight. they waited patiently for warmth. for the sun to bestow a gift of bloom. none would show their beauty. i walked a day between the crisp scents of life. when the ground had swallowed whole the sun, the green did fade to black. as hope diminished, a beacon of beauty struck my eye. petals of the brightest blue. shining in the spotlight moon. forcing awe in all that gazed upon its surface. i, then, was in the sweet presence of the prize. after years of darkness, light had been found. in witness of a sight of salvation. with stealth i scanned the landscape, and knelt to pluck the flower from its bed. i showed no signs of joy as the petals disappeared into my pocket. a fortnight now has passed. it has been dead for half. even now i refuse to show it smiles. i look upon its withered beauty with a solemn face. when hidden, i think of it with a happy expression. but it shall never see this look of elation. it shall never know of my love.
i strolled amidst the buds of spring. beneath the streetlamp glow of the setting sun. more graceful then, than i had ever thought real. i restrained my joy on hills and plains. beneath trees that rhythmically danced with gust. i had chosen then, in eternal bucolic wisdom, to feign contempt till the rage burned red before my eyes. that night i set a path lined with early flowers. they hid their petals from my sight. they waited patiently for warmth. for the sun to bestow a gift of bloom. none would show their beauty. i walked a day between the crisp scents of life. when the ground had swallowed whole the sun, the green did fade to black. as hope diminished, a beacon of beauty struck my eye. petals of the brightest blue. shining in the spotlight moon. forcing awe in all that gazed upon its surface. i, then, was in the sweet presence of the prize. after years of darkness, light had been found. in witness of a sight of salvation. with stealth i scanned the landscape, and knelt to pluck the flower from its bed. i showed no signs of joy as the petals disappeared into my pocket. a fortnight now has passed. it has been dead for half. even now i refuse to show it smiles. i look upon its withered beauty with a solemn face. when hidden, i think of it with a happy expression. but it shall never see this look of elation. it shall never know of my love.