Dying Flowers

  
   I felt almost like hitting him. "Insolent child! How dare you!"

.   .   .

  
   There I was, sitting on a bench in the park, enjoying the fragrance of blossoming flowers from the nearby bushes. Along he came. Armed with a pair of scissors, he clambered onto the bench and reached for the highest flower. Snip! It was cut. Dead to the world. Never to live again.

   Well, I'm a timid person. I don't react openly when things aren't my way. But my mind was racing; tearing this kid apart: Why? Where do such thoughtless actions come from? Where is the father of this child, who would have certainly prevented such an occurrence? Where is he?

   Lagging he was, but not too far behind. To him I'll give a piece of my mind, I thought to myself. As I approached, the father bent down and took the flower from his son. Hugging him tightly, he said: "Thank you."

   With all my politeness, I'm sure my ire must have seeped through my words: "How could you let your child bring about death to a poor flower? What did it do wrong? Have you no appreciation for beauty?"

   Said he to me: "Look at the bigger picture! Know that flowers were created to bring joy to people like you and me. Can't you see the delight I have in my child's deed? And as for the flower - in time another will grow on this very branch; just as lovely. To bring another smile to one more father."

.   .   .

   We look around us, and all we see is the death of flowers. Some neatly cut, others roughly pulled off their branches. At times even just a normal wind seems enough to sever them from their source of life. We want to scream out; to yell at the father that could let all this happen. The one who seems to let things spin out of control. Can our father not see the pain, the loss?

   Sometimes we're lucky. We are explained the way things really work; the way they're seen from the true perspective. We see the smile on the fathers' face, and we know intuitively that the right thing was done. But what about the rest of the time? Other dying flowers? When will the time come that we will be able to forever see the fathers' smile?

   I hope and pray that the day comes soon. But until then, I'll rely on my faith. After all, Daddy always knows best.

(For the sake of honesty (and for those who don't get it) I must say that this story never happened. It is a product of my thinking.)
 

Change

 
   Everything around me seems to be changing. Everyone is running too fast for me. New occurrences are pushing moments I want to treasure to the back of my file cabinet, to be replaced by newer and less savory stuff. Now the older files will be harder to find. If only there would be a way to keep some time-confined moments truly timeless.

   Alas, I know that the path upon which I tread will soon be overtaken. Perhaps by many, perhaps by only one. But overtaken it will be; never again to be the same. I hear them saying: "Why give more to the present than a moments' notice? Let your eye casually pass over it; like vanilla to the chocolate lover. Just skip it. We live in the past and future; in the bliss of the unknown and unseen."

   To myself though, I'm unconvinced. I say to myself: "Take the strongest, the heaviest of those moments and freeze them; those that weigh upon the heart. At the very least freeze-dry them so they'll keep their smell longer. Tomorrows' unknown need not be a reason to forget today's sights, smells, and tears. Bottle them up inside you and only open them when the time is right. Do this and in the driest of deserts you'll always have the smell of the morning after the rain."
     

Soon To Be Gone

   He is soon to be gone. He'll almost vanish into thin air.

   But he's a good guy. I don't want to forget him. He's worth enough in friendship terms that I should want a place for him in my heart. You know, the place where all my good friends are stored, them and the good times we had.

   It doesn't come easy, though. A constant effort is needed to keep him alive in me, untill I see him again. Because for now he may be as good as non-existent. After all, all the good times we shared are not to be repeated. When I see him next it will be but for a moment; a day at most. Not a year. A year in which we lived, grew, shared - all together. So things  -as much as I wish to deny- will indeed be different. Vain thinking it would be to conjure a scenario where all this can be repeated. It just won't happen.

.   .   .

   But does that mean I should forget? Just because there seems to be no point in remembering?

   Let me tell you something: All these memories, times, and the spot in my heart for them, their benefit is only mine, only mine. They are there for me to be able to use them when the going gets rough. In the future I'll need to have what to reminisce about; something to pull my own heart with. And if I don't treasure these moments and store them now, I just won't have them; my loss.

   So he's a good guy. That's who he is. But for me, to remember him is a tool; a way to reach my emotions with my own bare hands. For that - he's in me, and he'll stay in me.
      

My Dawn

 
   For a second I shudder. I wonder if you'll succeed again. After all, you seem today to be having a hard time. All the odds are against you. The clouds, rain, and sky itself bespeak prevailing darkness.

   Looking around me, the black clouds seem to cover the earth in a definitive fashion. Why, they seem to challenge me to a duel which they are sure they will win. And the rain - it's what makes this darkness hit home. In its drops it seems to carry the clouds' message into my face. Every drop says to me: "Just give up. It'll be dark forever."

   I'm not so easily convinced, though. I've known you for too long. You'd never succumb. But I still question myself: Where are you? Must you always test my trust in you? Do you really want me to fall off the cliff of doubt?

   My morbid thoughts notwithstanding, I look up at the sky above me, and behold - there is change. There is some light skirting the edge of the ominous clouds, making the rains' hue lighter too. I speak aloud, hoping you'll listen in: "I knew you'd make it. You were testing me, and I passed. All I need to do is see a drop of your light and I know that more will follow. Soon the air will carry a different tune. Brighter. More alive."

   And indeed, you succeed to the extent that later on in the day I am foolish enough to think that this was just another dawn; one oft repeated. But little do I know.
    

Daydreams

I was flying,

Free as can be,

Unconstrained.

No longer did my legs,

Carry my burden,

Groaning.

A taste of the unknown,

For a usually limited

Me.

T'was all good -

Till the crash;

I was no longer jumping -

I had landed.

Reality hurts.

  

One More Step

His racing heartbeat tells him to slow down,

But something inside makes him continue.

"So much effort was already spent!

I can't give up now."

"I've been training for this for such a long time,

What will my sponsors say?"

On he runs, overcoming obstacles from without and within.

He still keeps his lead, our persistent hero.

But alas, the final blow is to come not from himself,

-When the track disappears from under his feet,

And he disappears with it.

Such is my feeling of a time

When my opportunities

Were taken.

A loss of life,

A loss of freedom.

But not by me,

 By them.

That's me for today.