A Flower
/A flower blooms,
Its beauty unrecognised.
No depth, no feeling,
Only cold calculation, a knowing.
This is life without meaning,
Two-dimensional reality. Fact.
Who am I to deserve this?
Who am I not to?
The flower dies,
Its decay unrecognised.
Just another shade of grey,
Colouring this dull world.
Read another poem from Bound to the Wings of a Butterfly
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