The Spark That Bloomed

the path to the day was paved like any other,
a tradescant mess of hope and low self esteem.
it crept up on me,
a lone landmark
 on an empty road.
the memory now enlightened,
apart from the truth of the rain-scored day,
stands erect in the senility of the forgetful teenage mind.
the conversation was a coherent diatribe of honesty,
that meandered to and from the sublime to the tragic,
with the rise and fall of each wasteful breath.

we ended up in the ruins of a long gone time,
not unlike ours.
but licked with the flickering hand of hate.
there, alone amongst the glassy carpet;
surrounded by the brain-vomit scrawlings-
of our fellow drunks and fellow human beings;
was a pocket of flowers,
each bloomed with the kiss of the sun gracing each petal.
unique in the uniformity of their splendorous beauty
shining within the confines ruins of this crumbling faith
they stand everlasting.
Hope,
in the crater of my pockmarked mind.