Owls & Flowers


The Dark enfolded, cool calm balm, embrace,

Shrouded, age-cracked grief-wracked event-fracked face.

He held a faded cloth, colour sapped, once bold and brash,

Like her. His life now void, forsaken, consigned to trash.
The years passed by, constrained, a tether strained by blight,

Yet still remembered, that magic moment, flowers folded into light,
Pungent fresh plucked scent that wrung his eyes and fractured sight,

Superposition, choices branching, neither wrong nor right,
Tears, fractal focus moulding, dancing flowers, green grass weaving, And light, like gold, falling from the sky, in shaded forest pooling.
Image fixed, a portrait hoarded in the battered broken strongbox 

Of his heart, loves worn, faded, thundering token.
Until that fateful day, a glance, her scent, wafting by, a touch

Fate diverted, irresistibly drawn into lusts tight destructive clutch.
Light infused the frantic pulse of bird and bee, fecund fulcrum swung Outside, 

Whilst he remained, constrained, bound by grief and loss, inside.
Yet in the Forrest multiverse, brachiate, quantum bound

Flew an Owl endlessly aloft, neither lost, nor found, 
But alight, and chasing light, myriad beacons, 

Love’s candles burning, a vigil never weakened.

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