The wilting place.

The flowers are wilting!
They fade in their homes!
Fade into compost
of an early grave.

How short lived they seem!
Why can't they just thrive?
Their water is constant.
Their food - needs give.

The shot of sweet coffee.
Hot liquid a blast.
Yet still they lean heavy
on the cold dirty glass.

They melt into mush.
Their stems begin to weep.
The gush sticks to my hands.
The mountain too steep.

They hold on so long
but is it enough?
No longer so strong.
Hough!
History gave me no faith.

The wilting place...
Where little survives,
but mold and dispair,
for the loss of lives.