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The Struggle of the Flower
by
Eric Michael Hines
Weaving, turning, digits burning.
Angers rising, furies churning.
Forced to see what life could be.
My reflection's life, but my fantasy.
Through a solid wall of water we stare,
forevermore yearning for what lies out there.
Reflections stare toward the azure height.
They ascend high to the silver moonlight.
While we stand locked in perpetual night.
And hope the moving ones let open the sky,
Enough for us to watch the clouds fly by.
Each year, the warmth of the summer wind fades.
The blackened shadows no longer cool the shades.
And the nights grow cold,
For the year is old.
And our reflections are eaten by white fire.
And ever knowing their dire fate,
This confined life I've grown to hate.
I have no fragrance left to give.
My reflections death is the life I live.
"True power lies within."
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