Hiding Beauty in Decay

A field of flowers dies to hide its beauty.

A field of golden flowers.
Each unique, different from its neighbor,
Yet unmistakably beautiful.
Cheerful chirping of native birds,
Quiet buzzing of honey bees.
A perfect blue sky, scattered with decorative clouds.
A lofty breeze weaves its way
Through the stems and petals,
And the whole of it all,
Sways gently, as if rocking a baby to
Sleep.

I reach out to grasp a flower,
Its petals wither and die.
I wrap my fingers around a single
Dainty stem.
The entire flower collapses,
Falls to pieces.
The soil under my feet
Devoid of any nutrient.

As I gaze up to the rest of the field,
All I see is death.
Each and every suicidal
Flower lies pathetically
On the acrid dirt.
The once happy birds
Now ruffled, bloody piles
Picked apart by vultures.
A sickening silence fills
The frozen air.

I pass through this once beautiful field,
In lonesome acceptance. Each landscape I have traversed
Has given up,
Hidden its beauty from my
Eyes, so thirsty.
And this field of flowers is no different.
As I step off the once fertile ground,
I peek over my shoulder,
And see that without my presence,
It is beautiful once again.

Reviews

[Samantha ~virginpoet]

I liked it, it said more than was written I love reading between the lines

[Fabric Pulse]

I get the feeling this could be and is about people underneath the flower talk. I enjoyed your wording usage. The word arrangment painted just the right picture. Thank you for sharing with an audience.