Hmmm... should this be in other poetry?
Omnipotent, powerless
Fearless and afraid.
Voices calling, pushing, pulling.
To and fro
Surrounding.
One white flower
Floating on a stream
A beautiful sight
For the moment.
Then it crashes, over the fall.
Destruction.
One white petal,
Bruised and shredded,
Emerges.
A fragment, the barest whisper
Of what it was before.
A shining mirror,
Reflecting,
Only what it sees.
Never more, never less.
Always changing, but the same.
Only what others see.
Never itself, never unique.
One flat piece of worthless glass
Lying dusty on a child's shelf.
Forgotten.
Unable to make itself remembered.
What point,
Is there,
In never truly being?
To be created as lifeless,
As something will end.
To crawl into the twilight,
Towards the deepest, darkest depths.
The shadows calling,
Coming nearer.
What point is there,
In Destiny not resisting?
