Buds of Life

A designated sign.
Decimated and anticipated.
Build up expectations.
Picturing perfection.

Only halfway down,
And it fades.
Like burning flames on paper.
Died passion and obsession.

Dried leaves of where,
Revive the bud of life.
To where does it go?
When all have cried and died.

Stolen crease,
And underneath.
A shelter I seek.
In quiet and peace.
Thereupon death isn’t the option.

In amour of deprived aggravation,
And of stills and statues,
Free of expectations.

But the life of spring,
Beholds a warmth within.
Revives the wilted plant.
Thereupon life is the only option.

~S.H.~

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