Good Life

Faux Fleur

I trampled on a tiny branch

of goldenrod petals

entangled in mottled hay.





I thought it was real, wild, and lone,

like a single leaf

clinging to its relentless host

in the middle of autumn.





But to my chagrin

upon handling,

its tiny stem bent without tearing,

its petals rough and non-fragrant,

fit to decorate entwining weaves of a basket.





Petals peeled my eyes wide open,

during peaking intensities

Of dedication, and hopelessness.





I kept this branch in remembrance

of our forgiveness,

of what I felt for you.

Real,

only upon first glance.

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