This Tattered Bloom

This Tattered Bloom
 
He  
crossed  
a meadow  
fire flied  
 
with thoughts  
of love,
and there  
he spied  
 
a blossom  
full  
engorged  
with youth  
 
and plucked  
it from  
its tufted  
root.
 
Then  
placing it  
behind  
his ear,
 
he stepped  
his pace  
and put  
in gear  
 
a plan  
to climb  
that  
mountain top  
 
and lunch  
on high,
his favorite  
spot.
 
The day  
seemed  
perfect  
for his quest  
 
and  
until,  
he would  
not rest,  
 
to take  
the view  
and feel  
the wind  
 
for life  
has ways  
of  
breaking in.
 
The valley  
crossed,
he set  
his speed  
 
and nothing  
lost  
would slow  
the steed  
 
as onward  
climbed  
those gentle  
slopes  
 
which only  
served  
to stoke  
his hopes.
 
In younger years,  
the climb  
seemed  
solid,  
 
no footing
seemed yet
quite so  
squalid,  
 
but rain's  
erosions,  
snow,  
and wind  
 
had crept  
to make  
his journey  
end.
 
Upon  
the face  
of jagged  
whim
 
the sheerest  
steepness  
facing  
him,  
 
he faint  
remembered  
any  
foes  
 
that held  
his fate  
as stones  
like those.
 
And reaching  
summit's  
breaching  
light,  
 
the star  
above  
announcing
night,  
 
he spread  
his knapsack's  
contents
there  
 
to gleam
the town  
through  
midnight air.
 
And
sitting by  
the moonlight  
trust  
 
he felt  
the bloom  
in weathered  
rust,  
 
and then
began  
to pluck  
its petals  
 
speaking  
of
its heartfelt  
metals;
 
"She loves me,  
she loves me  
not,"  
he reminisced  
 
of all  
those times  
they'd shared  
and kissed;  
 
thinking  
through  
the bloom's  
bright cues,
 
he found  
its numbers  
horrid  
news.
 
When  
at last  
with dying  
breath,
 
he found  
in hand  
a single  
crest,  
 
the final  
jest  
of cosmic  
fate  
 
now faced him  
"not"  
as if
too late.
 
And tearing  
spike,
he then  
divided  
 
single  
prong  
and  
self-confided,  
 
"I cannot  
enter  
heaven's  
room  
 
without  
my loving,  
tattered  
bloom!"
 
And half  
the leaf  
of colored  
soon  
 
he plucked  
to finish  
all  
in swoon,
 
and fell  
into  
the deepest  
sleep,
 
and there  
remains
upon
the steep.
 
His journey  
now  
has found  
its end,  
 
in love  
through out
a deeper  
friend;  
 
for though  
his quest  
took
all he had,  
 
with nothing  
left,
his love  
was glad.