How Momentarily We Live Poem by Singer Joy

A flower
Died,
Yesterday.

On my windowsill
It perched,
Its morbid odor made my
Gut lurch.

I know not where it came from,
Only that it had been there,
Living,
For some time.
And then death's finger
Ran it through with a
Trace of grime.

Oh!
How I wept for its lively sweetness
To find my nostrils,
For its lilting, lovely light
To grace my irises.

I was worried,
At first,
Of its origins;
Be they benign,
Or of malignant design?

But then I grew fond of it:
It was pale yellow,
But it reminded you of the blue sky.
Reminded you...
Of a sweet, romantic lie.
Reminded me...

Regardless, it lay there.

I know that all... flowers
Die.
Yet it surprised me
When this particular specimen
(Of wonder, sent by Fate)
Seemed to fade.

But days passed,
And so did emotions.
Soon I knew the waves of
Ennui,
As do the massed
Herds of man.
I knew the drowning of the
Populous oceans.

So quickly we forget
What frailty means,
And what it can evoke.
So quickly we forget
Where we had been,
While such Beauty spoke.