the flame-flower myth

for sian lucas (inspired by a true story)


a flame coloured flower
lived there ‘once upon a time’
amongst the daily grind
where none other would care
to remain, if given a choice,
in possession of voice.

that was it’s bittersweet life,
fated to incite wonder in only one
similarly flame-haired and young,
by virtue of it’s orange hue
of wanderlust and the
heady musk of sensuality.

this miracle of life, a specimen of strife,
touched, revolted and assaulted
her sensitive approach to dirt
and where it lurks.
the juxtaposition
of the flower’s ambition

to grow, to bloom amongst this
room reserved for human shit.
she visits often,
the call of nature softened
by the surprise each time
that the Flame-flower’s life persists.

it affects her, directs her,
to examine again the sight of this
sweet flower that lifts her from the dark
of an wasted day at the desk.
oh poor wretch!
it strains, strangled of oxygen,

plagued by the toxins
it’s visitors ingest and expel
into this excrement-well.
it’s degradation is, at best, unfair,
reduced as it is to living, dying
in this tiny square of earth.

it hurts to look and this girl
can no longer gaze upon it’s beauty
with human impunity.
she dares to care - even the rose
looks lonesome sometimes,
particularly when it shines
in this dank, dark light beyond compare.

behold the lowly flower in it’s pot
which can teach us a lot.
it seems to be a mirror
granted gleam, a little shimmer,
and an accurate reflection
of our careless human waste
in all it’s arrogant imperfection.

yet she is not selfish
(having learnt hard lessons in life).
despite youthful exuberance
she's wise beyond her years
and so she is not sad, but glad,
and laughs with mirth upon discovering
that the fire-flower is myth.

made in china
the flower laughs behind her
and oh what a laugh
that it’s life is not this!