the gardener

a new flower blooms from the compost every week

it emerges from the soil

with a rage so intense it stands out from the dirt

with its bright purple and red hues, 

it attracts stingy bees.

i brush my fingertip against the flower but the bees sting

it stings

i do nothing but observe god's work from afar

appreciate the familiarity of the flower

watch its sickly yellow tendrils reach out

a masterpiece painted on soil

but a voice booms

and i lay my bod beneath god's hand again

a new flower blooms from the compost every week