Naturally Falling

My heart is tender in this calloused world,

rolling over stones as it owns the pavement

having been there so many times before;

travelling those same paths.

Blooming with the days and pacing through the nights.

As if rhythm is all it may contain, metaphorically though.

Because that same, cold world, even they know,

even they may comprehend the vacancy of atria

and the emptiness of emotions,

when bleeding for so long such soft breaths.

Petals landing softly on the waters brim,

but a flower wilts in their stead;

petals float slowly reflecting crimson red,

softly sinking into eternity.