A flower miraculously sprouts through a sea of deadness,
its stem succulent, the earthy green balances the soft yellow of its flimsy yet seducing petals.
Swaying with the pulsing breeze yet remains grounded, gripping to the soil that holds it in place.
It dances, to the melody of cars darting in the distance
The road always leads somewhere
Yet around it, underneath its canopying limbs,
Lie unnoteworthy stillness
Brittle leaves that no longer crunch or snap or crinkle under the sole of a shoe,
Its charismatic sounds lost in the flowers poise.
Wet muddy soil that seeps into fabric, leaving its mark on the visitors the flower draws in
Its presence is dismal on their clothing, the brown reminds them of their mistakes
Yet what makes this flower beautiful?
The arrogant vibrancy it radiates?
The leaves and soil are silent under the flowers reign,
it looks down on them, demanding their unwavering obedience
The flower strikes its whip, force penetrates creating creases of dignity
Their scars, endurance, treading in the flowers entitlement