Long have I wanted to be able to write poetry that would move the soul and provoke the thoughts of the reader, but sadly the words that I put together lack the vivid picture wants to create. So I am left with writing childish words on a paper that is ready to fall apart because of all the time that I have erased what I wrote because like myself, I hate it. I try to change it and still nothing happens. My whole life has been me trying to get better at things and though I try, it seems that I am way to good at messing up the things that I want most. The rarest of flower sat in front of me and I watched it, love it, cared for it, adored it, and longed to hold it. Years past and I tired to hold it to my chest to show it the love that I had, the only way that i knew how to give it. I crushed the flower, it now lays broken on this mountain side and I am left with only a memory. I have searched the mountain looking for an equal to this, that I love so much, knowing that the roots would never let me have it. So I continued my search and never found an equal, the beauty so rare that I am left wanting. Though many flowers filled this mountain, none had the color, the shape, the softness, the drawing that this one flower did. So now after I have destroyed that which I have longed for so long, I am left with nothing. Trying to find one with the depth of soul that this one had, for no other touched my heart like this one has and my greatest fear is that none would ever be able to again.
That's really beautiful
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