The breeze, tranquil.
Grass blades sway intermittently
to wave a warm hello to the sun,
raising its head over the dale.
Wild flowers peek through the foliage
like colourful freckles
on a canvas of jade, emerald and forest.
I pick an orchid –
out of place in this meadow I think.
The purple petals radiate against the palm of my hand.
Edges of amethyst speak to the rarity of my find.
Its smell as potent as it was while in the ground
making its way up your nose
like the feeling of a tickle under your arm.
Achoo! – a sneeze from nature’s dust.
I return my gaze to my hand.
Morning’s glow has turned to midnight –
an ink coloured infection plagues the purple.
Soon begins the shrivelling.
I grasp quickly at the spreading sickness
in an attempt to assist.
All I hear: crinkles and crunches.
In my palm: a pile of powder
People prevail but perfection’s perturbed.
Inspired by:
It’s hard to like someone without wanting to hold them close. But maybe flowers are meant to bloom without being held – Miri 19/07/2025
ScribblyMind Poetry 