A Flower

A flower blooms,
Its beauty unrecognised.
No depth, no feeling,
Only cold calculation, a knowing.

This is life without meaning,
Two-dimensional reality. Fact.

Who am I to deserve this?
Who am I not to?

The flower dies,
Its decay unrecognised.
Just another shade of grey,
Colouring this dull world.

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This poem is from the book, ‘Words On A Page’

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