Strange

It’s a strange thing,

the flower that blooms during the day,

and shrivels up during the night.

As I sit here at dusk,

it seems it starts to die,

I reach out to try and stop it,

but my efforts are denied.

My heart afraid of no more days,

the morning sun may never come,

my mind it thinks,

that everything is death.

It’s a curse on my mind,

a dark deep hole,

that says if you let go,

well then you will be alone.

Where will I find the strength,

to sit quietly by,

and pray to God that it doesn’t die.

What if I try,

what if I try,

just once letting go and giving control,

to someone else.

What if I don’t think the worst,

maybe for one night of my life,

I will lay here and wait,

watch the sun go down,

and believe it will come back up.

Find a cozy spot to lay my head,

some grass is bound to make my bed,

I’ll just relax and shut my eyes,

and dream of when the flower was mine.

Soon enough I will wake up,

the dawn of day will release my gut.

I have faith in a flower,

in the scariest way,

even though it can’t tell me,

it’s here to stay,

it will bloom again,

maybe today.

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