We are all like cut flowers

gorgeous in our blooming

a quick cut

a plunge into an artificial world

where forces within and without

strive to replicate and to extend

the hummingbird beat of time before wilting, fading

but the flower never asks for this

never questions

simply is

and blooms and blooms

in changing hues and shapes

dancing in slow death

until the last petal

and a dark branch

naked and open

 becomes a house for bugs

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