Gallows' flower

It was today that I saw it, within a window of the rusted bridge. It dangled from a Spider's thread, as a lone man hanging on gallows, a flower yellow as gall, condemned, yet its face turned towards Heaven. It does not rush to climb up Buddha's thread, but waits for the rest of us to grasp its wisdom, to entwine in its enlightenment. It was not clinging, but gently clasped by its faithful rope, gently strangled. Take my breath away, dear Daffodil. You are the troll of this my bridge, and my payment is thy risk, as my passage turns you, throttling you tighter, imbuing strength to this your death and straining this your link to life. I can't undo the harm, yet ask you to forgive me, sweet blossom, that I did not stop to tend to you, my karmic wheels forced me to carry on. Perhaps I was not meant to pick you, yet if the rain did not bid you fall, then tomorrow may be our day.

This eve, I stood by the mirror, alone on this side, but on the other holding on to you, breathing you. And as I remember your fragrance, my chest constringes, halting the flow of my life. I thirst for water, for your dew, a dying bloom too I am. Here, have the rest of my spirit, I still send you my breath.