The Dutchman’s Pipe Cactus


It was a cold gray night that
held me so firm.

The distance from the next door to
take me through my days longed
for a closer hand.

The silver intent circling the water
that was me rippled, but stood still.

A quaint beauty it was like a butterfly
with wings that don't take flight or a
flower never to bloom, but at night.

The white petals blazed, the cream
screaming piercing the night silence,
yet their announcement stayed unheard.

Their life kept from the doors that
would open to see their dynamic bloom,
for they have all closed for the night.

I loved a silent night, but with the coming
hour of the sun it faded taking with it my love.

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