of weeds dreaming they are flowers

the days grow
as the reciprocation
of sunshine
grows faint
i am no flower
carefully tended to
kissed by the light
in a bed of
softly whispered
fevered passions
just another weed
given the same
curt attention
desperate to stand out
but left wilted
as the effusion
is diluted among
the parasitic growths

sitting in the
darkness that was
a patch of sunlight
days before
waiting for those
scant few moments
of solar indifference
a weed growing up
in the cracked concrete
inches away from
carefully planted
flower gardens
imagining as the
first hesitant rays
peek over the horizon
i am worthy of that
golden touch myself
a delusion of sunshine
draped sorrowfully
in an illusion of prayer

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