Between a rock and a hard place

Indecision to decide
Is worse than being in a quandary
When every petal
Is a wretched foliage
Blown feebly by the wind;
When every bee
Is a pathetic follower of nature
To serve pollination;
When every root
Is a shameful creeper
Helplessly hiding under earth;
When all soil
Is a barren home
Divorced from vitality and warmth;
When each moment is a loss
And fate is a coin tossed.

a page that died

a page a love

and stained
but captured
and lured
a page deceived
by the trickster pen
who dies in vain
for it’s inked to life
with insurmountable cruelty
of the drawing knife

now the page lies
with its whiteness stolen
but alas! it’s not indignant
nor the culprit repentant
mutually they concede
it is the most beautiful fraud
yet the sincerest collision
the finest friction

as the page receives
the many stabs of the pen
it bleeds
and it bleeds gladly, willingly
it bleeds
until it ceases to breathe

now the pen dies
but not of guilt nor sorrow
not of surrender
but of fulfillment
At last!
it has done
what it has to

To make love with the page
and immortalize that love
in a masterpiece