Withered

A flower bed in the dirt

Both a grave and nursery,

For both life and death,

But life has no mercy.



The garden would grow,

And the flowers would die,

The circle of life,

In itself is a lie.



But the people still tended,

Flowers among weeds,

And when spring came around,

They planted new seeds.



A gardener grew with,

The flowers as one,

And near the end of his days,

Had one only son.



But winters went cold,

The boys forehead turned hot,

"nobody touch him",

better living than not.



No roses were left,

When the boy turned to stone,

Nobody cried,

They just went home.



Spring never came,

I'll never know why,

And when summer was meant,

Clouds reigned the sky.



And still the boy slept,

The father muffled his cries,

The people went about,

Averting their eyes.



Then the rain started pouring,

And yet the sky turned bright,

There must have been a rainbow,

But they missed the sight.



Slowly but surely,

The town went insane,

They had everything to lose,

And nothing to gain.



They all stopped caring,

The flowers had died,

The people went crazy,

And they're staying inside.