Dutiful Flower

How lonely must the heart

Of a dutiful flower feel

Amongst a pathless land

Called truth.

And what of this truth,

So amorphic,

Yet so ubiquitous,

That remains so elusive

In our quest for happiness?

Oh, the experience…

Were we but a single flower

Willing to bloom among the indistinguishable,

Among the discarded realities of truth,

Amidst a drought of love’s need to irrigate life’s heart,

Would we not radiate goodness without regard for exchange

Or

Obligation from the receiver,

Desiring nothing for itself,

Save freedom to radiate love

For its own sake,

For all who set aside thinking

In order to just enjoin

The singularity?

For is it not love’s truth

To be a point at which its essence

Radiates endless derivatives of oneness?

Is not that also the purpose of a dutiful flower,

One surviving all that is not love's truth,

Yet standing alone to be love?