Giants

They are unmoving,
uncaring, unsharing,
unmerciful gods.

My petals are dying,
my leaves are fading.
It is dark, as it ever been.
They spread their arms
and their leaves
to imprison me.

But I am not fallen;
they were shadows once also,
basking in the darkness
of former giants.

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Ok, I've been writing a lot and not posting a lot. So here's more. Isn't it weird you can find oppression just about everywhere?

This is about flowers suffering under the shade of trees, yes? A little more metaphorical than realistic--one rarely sees flowers that don't thrive under the protection of the greater oaks, as it were. But still, as a metaphor, it's interesting. The ornamental and endearing snuffed out by the practical and obstinate. In any event--

Your first stanza could do with a good diet. Frankly, I'd trim all that fat and leave it with just: "They are unmerciful gods." Unmerciful, you see, implies the other "un-"s that you've used here, and the brevity of the statement only packs more punch than the comma-constipated laundry list you've currently employed.

As to the second stanza: this is unbuttered toast; it sticks in the craw and doesn't even taste very good. I do like the idea, but perhaps you could find a more poetic--or at least more impactful--way to express it?

Stanza the third: This is the best of the three, and still not very polished. I think working with drafts might benefit your writing. Keep plugging away, yes?

It was nice. One question, are you somehow being bullied physically or emotionally? I don't know but you seem to be so because of this poem. Anyway good job.

Um, no. I just write what comes to mind, and what came to my mind was poor flowers

I'm not as poetic when I'm writing with a serious voice, I've noticed. And yes I admit there's too many "un-"s in the first stanza.