pursuit of eudaimonia

Bliss

For days he’s watered it dearly.
The exotic plant that decorates his desk.
Subtly hidden beside the window frame.
Running his hands gracefully down its roots,
that burrow deep into the pot of soil he’s constructed. 
By hand it was made to resist fractures and fail to break.
Though he would never allow such disaster to occur. 

For weeks he’s tenderly saturated it’s stem.
Cleansing its imperfections from its evident beauty. 
Clearing away the dirt that covers its eyes from the sun. 
A saint of caution he purges its transgressions, 
along with purified water that he washes down it’s body. 
Passionately bathing his precious flower with ardor.  
Solicitously loving his secret flora in wait for the day of blooming. 

For months he waits patiently beside his extraordinary gift.
Trimming the many sprouting sins from it’s consistent proliferation.
Mending it’s every putrid bruise with his emerald heart.
Warily retaining his green flame from its combustible fronds.
In silence it sits afraid to expose its ravishing splendor.
Unaware of the truest grandeur it possess behind it’s bud.
He has always known this truth before it burgeoned from the soil.

For years he has adored his cherished love.
Tending to its every need and killing its every disease. 
Never has he wished for more of it than just it’s color. 
The radiant hues that have delighted his smile. 
The vivid pigment that sleeps on his desk. 
His greatest desire being only its life in his own. 
Together in full bloom.

Winter Beckons

He wanders the cold lost in a sea of Sirens. 
Each with a name more lovely than the last. 
Their marvelous voices taunt and tear him asunder.
The frigid air burrows into his lungs hunting for warmth. 
Hollowing out his own voice and distorting it from their ears.
Around him is only miles of snow in all directions,
followed by the skeletons of trees.
Dithering and bewildered he falls to his knees.
Their entrancing songs incessant in his mind. 
Cradling his lunacy carefully in their hands. 
Soon he turned and fell on his back, 
tasting the flakes as they melted on his tongue. 
A freezing breeze floated into the scene at that very moment. 
With it a gust of bone-chilling wind that stole his skin from his body. 
The chorus of the Siren’s song beckoned him to rise. 
Without intent he followed their lyrics to the darkest part of the woods. 
Where a small tree slowly burned.
A dense blue flame danced around its tiny branches. 
The Siren’s orders turned more violent the closer to the fire his hand became. 
Despite the blistering torment shredding his consciousness he touched the flame. 
Their calls ceased and so did the cold.