He is a proud young man
Mysterious in ways more than a million.
Harbors a whole universe within
The one that is accessible to none.
A passel of thoughts take form in him each day
And a few each minute die.
He hides the remains of which carefully
And on these, his existence rely.
His eyes, they speak in size,
But words, they often deceive.
His silence laments the cries of a chaos
But his body lacks courage to confront.
Utter shame how the elusive emotions decay-
Like an Ephema they live and buzz a while,
They conceive a new chaos each day
These perish as the Sun sets on the hay.
Each day a new world is born
And few each minute die.
There stands the man I know
Tall and proud, on the heap of death,
The ‘Corpse Flower’ he holds within
Aloof and rare, he lies on the grass like a wreath.
Endurance is the route that leads to him
Acceptance is the key to possess him.
For they are all born like him
But most each minute die.