A strong wind blows today
stripping red petals from the
bougainvillea, tossing them
in the air, swirling, tumbling
remnants of disconnected life.
The fascinating dance is set
to the music of futility, songs
of hope lost, ballads of beauty
tarnished by cynicism and
deception.
Some red petals still hold to
the stem. Tenacious but
trembling. A matter of time?
Perhaps.
Clearly a time that matters.