Sparkatale

The flowers of the grass
Had seen their better days.
And time had come to pass
And the care had gone away.

They were nothing any more,
As time had taken its toll.
He'd closed off the open door,
And away she finally would stroll.

He refused to admit
That he felt any pain.
Tried to ignore the heavy hit
That finally brought the rain.

The flowers now are dead.
The young man sits in shame.
Wants to try and look ahead
Alone, with just himself to blame.

She gave it her best try
And felt the constant guilt
When one day she started to spy
The flowers beginning to wilt.

And finally they all lay
In a dried up field of dirt.
No longer could this girl stay,
Sitting in a meadow full of hurt.

So finally when he turned around
She made her way alone.
Left a dead flower upon the ground
And broke his heart of stone.

So he lays in the field by night
Mourning his lost, beloved friend.
He was blind, and she was right—
He never saw this awful end.

He goes back over the past
Picking up on all the signs.
The realization is coming fast:
This prison is his own design.

She stands alone in a garden
That has begun to bloom.
Though happy, her heart is hardened
When remembering the meadow's gloom.

Surrounded now, there is a smile
Looking in the reds and pinks.
But after a short while,
She sees yellow, and she thinks

Of the field they used to share;
The world they'd made together.
And knowing how he's trapped there
With the memories, forever.

She runs a hand along the petals
That shimmer of pale gold,
Noticing they feel hard as metal
And strangely bitter cold.

She gently closes her eyes
And looks up in the air.
Crying softly for the demise
For someone no longer there.

Shortly she'll get up to her feet
And smile to the sky.
He holds her dead flower in defeat,
All he has to remember her by.

And one day she does come back
To that dead and barren place.
And there he sits, joy in lack
And tears upon his face.

He turns and holds out his hands
Though he looks at the ground.
Looking down, she understands
And no one makes a sound.

He's holding on to it tight,
Her final letter, he had it still.
The pain he no longer can fight
And the sadness controls his will.

She shook her head after a pause
And turned herself away.
He held onto her arm, because
For her return, he had prayed.

She handed him but one seed
And started to depart.
If her friendship was his need,
A bloom would sprout from his heart.

He watched in despair
As she seemed to disappear
The misery was nearly too much to bear
But his mission became so clear.

He put the seed into the soil
And gave it immense amounts of care.
Finally, through his endless toil
A bloom sprouted up there.

One blue rose now grows
In the field that he let die.
But over time, he seems to know,
She'll be back. Then he'll try

To turn around a dying yard
And protect it from the grave.
He knows the mission is very hard,
But he knows this can be saved.