Rainy day

Wrought be the lily returning to old soil
Knowing it's embedded with sewage, waste and oil.
 
Bought be any lily, linked to grey chain
Freedom a breeze away, eternal heathen
pleading for some pain.
 
Doomed be the flower staring at it's feet.
Seeing, feeling, breathing gloom in showers,
not thinking of the parched seeds.
Sometimes wishing higher power to depart me
from all these earthly matters,
too caught up in what my heart sees.
Get over this sad sac, become
what my art be.
Feed me to some harpies,
let me fertilize some growth.
 
All that's growing in me
is thoughts of horror
that I boast, barely believe
some words to come out of my throat,
it's a wonder I haven't choked.
Sun above a fallen dove,
the abyss beneath  
the crocs and goats in Noah's boat.
The rifle meant to fire, snagged
by broken bolt, light me
on fire, watch me rise in smoke.
Tie me to a boulder at sea
and see a rock float.
 
Haunted by my own
mind in a wood so remote.
 
I, on occasion pine for
a stump, a fawn, a frog, a vine,
or prying eye to touch my petals.
This lily's lonely clearing
the price of being a rebel, no.
Just a bit of mental illness
that's killing me slow.
I hope the stars see the show