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Weeding is a Thankless Task

/ Hyacinth Hale / Leave a comment 
The flower does not thank the weed-eater,
The one that single-handedly plucks each toxicity from wrapping around it’s stem, 
And choking the life out of it,
Nor does it thank the weed-eater
 For obliterating the weeds that took root, Stealing its nutrients, 
Sucking the life out from under its feet, 
Giving the illusion of propping it up,

No, after the weeds are gone, 
The flower is left naked and alone, vulnerable,
 The weed-eater has done it’s job,
And the flower is left to face the terminal heat, and the harsh drought, 
And on occasion,the deluge of rain, 
And the many, many predators who want it’s nutrients,

It’s now time, to see if the flower is strong enough to take root or if it so easily withers,
The flower sways in the wind, 
But does not tumble, 
It takes in the sunshine,
But is not scorched by its heat seeking rays, The flower drinks its fill,
 But does not drown in the tears of the collected pain of the earth,

The flower is armed with charm and beauty, And it attracts bees to pollinate, procreate,
More flowers just like this singular bud bursting forth pedal after pedal proliferate, 
A testament to it strength and desire for survival, 

Though the flower is thriving,
It never forgets what it took to get there,
The weeds that tried to suffocate the life before it began to really live, 
And the weed-eater who thanklessly plucked each thorn from its chlorophyll side

Make no mistake the flower will wither away,
It will succumb to the harshness of its environment,
It will be plucked for its beauty, crushed for its poisonous iniquity, or dust the earth with the fragrance of a life lived, crumbled like potpourri as mulch to nurture the essence of life again,

The dichotomy of the temporality and the eternality of this singular flower, 
a representation of our universal presence and placement in time and space,
It begs the question why?
What’s the purpose of a flower?

There are several in fact, 
Flowers provide clean air to breath,
They provide sustenance for the birds, the animals,
Medicine to heal wounds,
If nothing else, the flower generates beauty,
But none of it can happen if there is no one to quietly and thanklessly weed what was planted, 
So it can become what it was meant to be

~ By Hyacinth Hale

Broken Vessel

/ Hyacinth Hale / Leave a comment
Photo by Anna Chaykovskaya on Pexels.com
I was fractured, and you were supposed to be my healer, 
Instead, you shattered my existence,
Lost, broken, I let you go free, 
So that I would be left somewhat intact, 
I wanted you gone, but you never left my mind, 
Always lurking in the back of it, 
Popping out in the most inconvenient times,

When someone grabs my shoulder from behind, it’s you,
When someone whispers next to me, it’s you, 
Every man that smiles at me, it’s your smile,
When I close my eyes, I see you,
I hesitate to wear my favorite lipstick 
Because you liked it so much,

There is not an inch of my life that you did not slither into, 
Wrap yourself around my throat as I scream, 
Choke what’s left of my dignity out of me, 
And leave the scars to mark me, 
I am enslaved to you even as a free woman 
As you still walk unencumbered,

A decision I made to keep the peace, 
But I’m not sure whose peace, 
Your pieces are still with me, 
And a piece of my flesh will always be 
A trophy on your mantle, 
Something to mount as your victory, your conquest, 
Even though the rest of me escaped, 
A small price to pay for the freedom I have now,

Now, I glue back my broken pieces, 
And figure out how the pieces you left behind fit in,
I am no longer whole without you,
But that does not mean you get to change 
The tides of the water I carry inside, 
Though right now it is dark and stormy,
One day, one day, you will only be a gentle breeze 
That blows through the cracks,
Easily remembered, easily forgotten,
Leaving my life unaffected, 
and the ability to smile and mean it

By Hyacinth Hale