For Thy Peace, My Soul

23.

Newly blossomed lilacs sweetened the air warmed by the noon sun. The sense of renewal fired the blood of the young. I stood still amongst the chaos. Shouts and laughter, amber sun, divinely sweet blossoms. And I. The crumbling relic of a man. Once a man. Leftovers cold in the refrigerated memories of ancient times.

I lifted a conical cluster of pink to my nose. My lips twitched upward. Who can refuse to smile at such delight? So beautiful and brief the tender blooms. As the season moves, they sag and wilt under our star’s heavy gaze. We, delicate suits of flesh and blood, are much like them.

We fade too soon.