A Precious Flower

-A Precious Flower-
by
Keaton Foster



A precious flower
Growing in a field of weeds
And forever darkness believed
Such a realm is all that it knows
The home of its
Metaphorical skin and bones
Survival has always been its way
It’s only playable game
It has and continues to do
What it certainly must
Self-preservation is its god
It’s one absolute truth
In the wilderness of its kind
It does not raise the sun
Or fall the moon
It does not control
Any part of its own reality
Or the causality of its situation
It is a precious flower
And all that it does
Is what it knows it must to get
From one second to the next
Its stem is battered and bruised
Its petals are stained
Repugnant it would appear
To anyone with the clarity
To see it for what it is
But in such absolute darkness
It’s terrible secrets are kept
Given all that it was given
And considering all that was taken
It does what it can exceedingly well
Its roots run quite deep
To the core of all being
It would take a brutal grip
To rip it from its bosom
It would take a power far greater
Than any light and darkness combined
Present time applied
Reality with regard to
Such a precious flower
Continues to be undermined
No one can stop it
Who and more importantly
What would even dare
It grows, it will not stall
Sooner it will reach a height
Beyond the emptiness of its plight
It will see the light of the world above
It will feel something unsure
But without fear it will grow on
Reaching the unreachable
But it will always know
That it will be forever grounded
Within the absolute darkness
From which it comes…


A Precious Flower
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2012.