Sunless Flowers Never Open
by Odin Roark

How doggedly the pursuit
For ill-begotten success,
Trappings concealed
Amidst tensile voids of darkness,
While beneath the facade
Existence reflects
Life's sun,
Moon,
Tides,
And wind.

How wise,
How longsuffering,
These roots that nourish.

Time seeds in all sizes,
Color,
Strength,
Courage,
Wonder lust,
Yet few grow to full bloom.

Perhaps few plantings find solace in the wait,
This patient evolution of consciousness,
Save…
The flower,
Whose mysterious
Enigmatic fragrance of simplicity
Requires little to nurture
Its essence.

From sprout of survival,
To bloom of vivacity,
This willingness to risk
Tenuous mission of trust
For yield of bouquets,
Begets colored voices of harmony
Reaching skyward
With velvet touch,
Becoming unsung voices of feeling
For that is what transcendence does.

Still, some proclaim dominance
Over such fragile children of nature,
Stuffing them in reservoirs of water,
Ignoring their tenuous innocence,
Yet quick to moan when they wilt,
Obviating guiles of fault,
A duplicitous romance with life,
The consummate shattering of fragrance.

So goes the nurturing of many relationships.
Seeding.
Maintaining.
Enjoying a sensorial feast like no other,
Until...

Solipsism knows not its
Egregious error,
Remaining without light,
Destined to but emulate
Sunless flowers
That never open.