There's a flower that has become a skeleton
with all of the time
that it's rested next to a stone,
that has gone more stem than petal,
growing old with the passage of time.
And yet,
like always,
his heart is the one thing
that never seems to turn to bone,
never becomes a skeleton
rather than something beating
within his chest.
And yet,
even the offering of a new flower
stirs not his heart,
and he can't quite bear
to leave a flower
gone beautiful in it's youth
there at the stone, one that wouldn't have known
any of the years yet,
wouldn't have slowly slipped from petal
to dying plant with all the time
that has passed him by,
between a goodbye sealed with a promise
and now,
when even the promise
is the one thing that he cannot fulfil.