A dead flower is like a hopeless romantic;

broken and shattered on the inside.

But when given the opportunity to shine,

that flower can light a thousand souls.

Pedals of arms, giving love across a barren field.

Emptiness that blooms and glows above.

Dead flowers, no longer living,

yet so full of life.

Death creeps in as color stands tall.

The stem raising high; not wanting to die.

Even when those pedals do fall,

the beauty still exists at all times.

So even when hope deviates, it shall vibrate the ether.

I hope I’ll find her, my dead flower.