Is our life merely a game?
Pruning our toughened stems just for fame?
To fall to the ground with other stem-plucked red
Imagined safety in the dirt where all have bled
Is it too frightening to stretch out our petals?
Harder to receive love rather than deathly-cold medals?
Is it perhaps warming to drown in what we see?
Bathing and withering in what the wisest flee
Should we strain ourselves so far?
Our petals to burn under the magnificent star
To blaze with humility, to whisper with strength from a breeze
So one day, we may and grow and glisten, our beauty visible to the tallest trees
