The Sorrowfeed Flower
There is a shade of purple in this flower near winter’s start that tempts you grieve all that you have lost and all that you will lose. To have seen this flower would mean you are not immune to season’s cold wrath, and that, despite all your troubles and efforts—for the two are not the same thing—, you have fallen victim to nature’s injustice. In shallow fields along wilting trails and amongst fallen leaves, the sorrowfeed exudes its consuming tint—the most heartwrenching violet—from within the farthest star and away deepest time. And as it bares its sad hue, I bare my sad heart, now so pale from the her absence.
It only grows in my dismay, for now its richly faded color only mocks me.
I stand in silent wretchedness beside my angel’s grave. Wretched as I was, I stood beside my angel’s grave.
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