My grave
Will have
Flowers
Won’t it?

The petals
Withering
As the
Worms
Further
My peace

The constant
Rush
Swallowed
As my
Body is
Encapsulated

The wind
A distant
Threat

It can
No longer
Steal
My loves

Dandelion
Seeds
It’s only
Toys

It spreads
The life
Of the
Resilient

I never
Could
Learn
The ideals
Of the
Trees

A fault
Born
Of the
Urge
To go
Beyond

Abandoning
The earth
In search
Of a distant
Ever changing
Space

Yet
It all
Resumes

From
Which
I was
Born

I shall
Return

My agony
Smothered
By the
Ground
Remnants
Of others

But
I never
Really
Left

The petals
That
Represent
Me

Those
Were
Ever
Present

A childish
Bouquet
Woven
By my
Unaware
Hands

How diverse
It seems

For
My
Captor
Is
Always
There

One
Picked
Too soon
The youthful
Innocence
Of the
Dead
And
The
Collector
Intertwined

One
Gifted
By much
More loving
Hands
For doesn’t
Another’s
Demise
Make
The act
All the
More
Beautiful

One
Swept
Along by
Troublesome
Wind
To be
Forgotten

How they
Have found

Me

How they
Have held

Me

How they
Have trapped

Me

Their
Weight
All I
Feel

For I
Was the
Forsaken

I left
My home
In search
Of more

Such
Human
Desires

I tainted
Them

And
Oh
How
I shall
Taint
My grave

Infecting
The natural
With my
Ambitions

Finding
Peace
As the
Urge
For more
Leaves
Me

The petals
Becoming

Me

And
The worms
My last
Friends

As I
Become
One with
The dust

Dirt above
Compacted
By the steps
I used to take

For I
Have
Left
It all
To be
The
Same