POEM: A LOVERS' QUARREL IN FULL BLOOM

Destruction can be a form of creation -     

or else they go hand in hand

like eager blossoms weaved within the barbed wires of Arizona’s border

If a flower can grow out of a cactus,

born out of thorns and married to the shivers of mid-summer heat,

we in turn act like humming bees

laced with the champagne fires of a lovers’ quarrel.

When the melancholy lingers long enough,

we then distance ourselves from the newfound unfamiliarity stapled onto our chests

And like howling wolves, we crave to be more than just nervous shadows

against a picturesque desert moonlight.

But if destruction can create

why do we become bored of the things we love and obsess over the things we hate?

If our growth is fueled by nurturing the roots of what could be -

we should nourish our weeds in the hope that, they too, can excavate some form of creation.

Because with every sting of a cactus needle comes renewal:

Man’s tragedy becomes subdued by the coral blush of Nature’s flower.