I will never compare you
To some bright flower
Stranded in mud.
And I do not care for
The songs birds sing,
Or the smell of rain.
I’ve never found bliss
In a summer sunset.
I’m colour blind
And I find the sun
Far too predictable.
I would never hold you up
As some sort of mirror
To the world’s beauty.
Because the world isn’t beautiful,
It’s uglier than I am.
People who write about
Bright flowers,
The songs birds sing,
The smell of rain
And summer sunsets
Are bored,
lonely,
sexually frustrated,
And in denial
(A collective state often mistaken
For clarity).
Maybe one day
I’ll write about
All of those things
Which don’t interest me at all.
But I thank you,
Because at least for the time being
I don’t have to.
Poetry | Issue 20
Flowers and Sunshine By Tim A. Rou
