It was the last flower I’d received,
And the first one I was given.
Because what used to be so sweet is now burnt and gone.
Long, long gone.
And what do I have left from it?
Ashes speckled with past hopes and dreams
That have now been abandoned,
Memories and teardrops
And what my friends call “a life lesson”.
But what do I really have left?
Tear stained pages of poetry,
Nervously bitten nails
Now growing back from being nubby and weak?
Yes, I have those.
But one thing I have is more important than the others:
A flower.
One might tell me to calm down and rethink what I just said,
But nobody understands
The beauty of the first flower given
Being the last that I’ll receive.
There must be some magical quality to it
For when the wishes and dreams were set aflame
The flower stayed the same
And it never, ever changed.
Still powered by good memories of my life,
The flower gives me hope.
I can still feel the warmth and laughter
And the sweet smiles and the times spent together
When I’m looking at that flower.