Starburst

I remembered the little boy’s refrain
It matters to this one, said he to the hopeless old man
And so I scooped up the limp little fading starbursts
TAKE ONE BECAUSE YOU’RE AWESOME

We nurture them from the seed
Feed them with rhythm and rhyme
Bright days and quenching coolness
Endless rows in great glass shells,

Protected

And when the time comes,
When bird remarks and bee descends
When her sails myriad unfurl to the skies
When his colours finally flare; iridescent
When they are ready to greet the heavens

This is how it’s done: Use the iron. Soft metal.

We cut them from their stems with azure precision
Use the serration. Use the edge. Make sure it’s clean.
This is pretty. This will brighten your day.
Forever love. Then friends. Then take care.
Then goodbye. 

(This is for my own good) 

Arrange their severed heads still shaking with raw horror
Wrap them in paper, prose and plastic. Visual poetry.
We gift them: in concern condolence and congratulation
Their youthful mangled forms still twitching, dazed

How long can colour keep, severed from the stem?

I remembered the little boy’s refrain
It matters to this one, said he to the old man
And so I scooped up the limp little fading starbursts
To let them drink to let their heads hang a little higher

 But the iron had already cut too deep

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A poem i wrote earlier this year for Singpowrimo2016. As with previous creations, things seem to snowball with meaning as times pass and experiences accumulate. 2016 seems to be an extended metaphor for the transience and inevitable doom of brilliant, beautiful flowers severed at the stem. This poem is the older sibling of a poem I wrote last week, when I bought flowers which were cheaper by the dozen. 

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