A flower hangs upside down from the curtain rod over my window.
Its moisture drained leaving only the thin dried husk of a shell,
My feeble attempt to preserve it did not quite create immortality.
It is but a reminder of the splendor that nature once displayed proudly.
While it was in bloom fresh with all of its colors glowing,
It brought smiles and no one questioned its value or worth.
Now it hangs inverted and the petals are bled of their splendor.
The glory that was rich silk perfection hangs like a thin cotton bell.
Old memories whither like celluloid images, fading and falling out of focus.
What was once clear is hidden in time's shadow and the mist.
Was it plain and simple as we walked the path of our choosing?
Or were we led down the road our minds made unified but left unable?
We live alone singularly with an internal rage for all who are different.
Our thoughts reverberate as we create our own passionate hells.
All of our perversions must be purged; any remainder must be hidden.
If we are to be released to open the box that once held Pandora's fable.