I am not sure if this is prose or just a story. Regardless, when I wrote it I had no idea how (nor did I want) to break it up into lines and stanzas.
So - whatcha think?
Girl sits in the dusty remnants of a garden. Holds the last flower - never more - just this. Shattered diamonds pool in her lap as she stares at the reminder of what was (and what she never deserved). The garden.
Planted with intent where everyone would see. On a hillside, near a beaten path, illuminated a quarter of the day by the eastern sun. Hindsight tells her this never was a good place for a garden. As she holds the last flower - once a companion of roses, flax, tulips, lilies, beauty beyond and color - she plucks the petals off. Corolla and petals in the pool of shattered diamonds.
The last one gone - garden dust the only company wanting to keep her - she lies down. Sleeps. Stem and lonely stamen rest on her chest like arms folded. Eastern sun burns, hillside, trodden path, dirt garden.
So - whatcha think?
Girl sits in the dusty remnants of a garden. Holds the last flower - never more - just this. Shattered diamonds pool in her lap as she stares at the reminder of what was (and what she never deserved). The garden.
Planted with intent where everyone would see. On a hillside, near a beaten path, illuminated a quarter of the day by the eastern sun. Hindsight tells her this never was a good place for a garden. As she holds the last flower - once a companion of roses, flax, tulips, lilies, beauty beyond and color - she plucks the petals off. Corolla and petals in the pool of shattered diamonds.
The last one gone - garden dust the only company wanting to keep her - she lies down. Sleeps. Stem and lonely stamen rest on her chest like arms folded. Eastern sun burns, hillside, trodden path, dirt garden.