A sunflower fighting to face the sun
and drink her up.
To nourish and grow by her light,
denying the time of sunset as she disappears over the drunken horizon,
behind the stained sheets of the sky.
Do you not see its falling petals and wilting leaves?
A sunflower without its sun is names;
just a flower.
No identity or reason.
It turns to the moon, a reflection of its glorified sun, but she cannot provide the same comfort.
Ashes of cigarette smoke and the shadows of the night turn the petals of the flower gray and dark.
The buds of flowers below it soak up the fallen ash into their innocent leaves with each drop of night rain.
Comforting to outside ears, torture to them.
It stings and burns their ashy wounds.
Falling apart, piece by piece.
And as the moon goes down, as do they.
How selfish of the sun to leave its flowers to die.
Did she not think they were beautiful?
She cannot come up and shine on them again,
for they have died in the dark..