His heart feels like the season that has settled in around him: winter. A heart that was once vibrant with lively hues of red now appears brown as it rots in the dirt looking up at what once was. A time when it was connected. A time when it flowed with life. A time when it soared above the ground. A time of warmth. A time of spring. But now, the cold, stinging air of insecurity and indifference have driven into his life like a surprise cold front from the farthest poles of the earth. As the winds rage around him, his life comes undone, petal by petal. The bloom of life that once rode the wind like a valiant eagle breaks under the rising pressure that surrounds it on every side, and the long free-fall down to the cold, hard earth below begins. The bottom. The ground. The dirt. Gravity’s stored up wrath finally catches up with him as his crimson flesh violently kisses the earth.
Where does he go? What does he do?
The flower that appeared to open beautifully as each year yielded new petals is now lying in the dirt. Decaying. The blossom that was sure to be the most successful is rotting underneath the surface. Seeds of bitterness take root as he lies helplessly looking up at the remaining flowers that youthfully soar above him as he once did. Nostalgia. The faithful ball of fire nosily peaks over the land every day, but he has immigrated into the shadows. Scared. Alone. Wilting. Crushed by the invisible forces. He wants to disappear, but really all he wants is to be found. Loved. Understood.
Can anyone see him?
He cries out for attention, but no sound comes out. Mute. If only the dam would break, maybe his dead soul would grow again. Brick by brick. Year by year. The mortar’s taken hold, and the walls tower invincibly as the tempest of repressed emotions rages behind the smiley face graffiti-ed bricks. He wants to escape. To raise up his sails and ride the wind away from everything, but he’s scared of the fire that threatens at the end of the voyage. Fire that way, buffet for worms here. Ensnared.
He thought that he was supposed to be given to the world. A bouquet of hope. Love. Good news.
Too bad the beauty has gone bad.
