Came up with this on the spot... but be brutal nonetheless!
I see the flower, perched at the edge of my little island,
as I sit and ponder.
My eyes, narrow in confusion,
my pencil too hyper to stay still,
the lines on my paper desperate for activity,
and I wonder...
What makes them so hard to please?
My little island tries to aid in my quest
in finding the key that opens the seldom open door.
But, it can not find the answer no matter how many times
it shakes, and wobbles, deep into concentration.
But that flower; it's so unbelievably smug.
It sits and watches, not bothering.
So I come to the conclusion...
Flower, you know.
Despite my begging and pleading,
the flower remains silent.
It sways tauntingly, implying
that it won't speak anytime soon.
So, I try.
After hours and hours,
I came to an answer.
How clear it was!
Your words, although at some times cruel,
are the soil.
Your wisdom is the light.
Your very presence the air and water.
This is what makes me bloom.
