This sunflower wakes starved for light and rain.

Its shield edged with razor blades.

Its eye dried to spitting seeds.

Starved beyond satiate, dug up and burnt

Far from the compost bin, no utility to be found.

No better than a weapon that cannot harm. No worse

Than a flower that forgot to count its steps to the sun.

 

This soil wakes starved for rain and weeds.

Its womb dry like beached sand.

Proud rocks pulverized by a persistent tide

Into stubborn grains sticking to feet being cleaned

By the one needing to be saved. No nutrient to be found.

No better than a garden that died fallow

Suffering the relentless beating of a lonely sun.

 

The sun wakes starved for seed and dirt.

Its rays linger too long wanting to be expected.

Trapped under chemicals denied existence

Creates wealth inside a tomb we will all be buried.