Fault of the Flower

Would it pain
She asks
Knowing all too well that it would
But I said No
As if saying thus shall make it so
And watched
Drifting in the lap of the night
Horror’s hand take hold
And smother
The last filaments
Those final particles
Ruminated remnants
Hers and my own
Settle on the dying petals
Of the flower we painted
But forgot to plant
If only we had not been
Part myopic, part colourblind
There would have been gardens to tend
New flowers to sow
Some fragrance to find

Filaments

Have you been silent for so long
That you wondered if you belong 
With the people
Who left
Listening to all that could be heard
Whilst wondering about each word
As if the carcass of it’s meaning 
Will somehow survive
Those ages spent playing dead
Trying to stay alive