The Plant

Heat. Water. Soil. Was this all that was needed to provide a healthy piece of greenery? Too much water would drown the plant, yet too much sun could damage the plants growth. Such a simple thing,- a plant- could be so confusing and complex to understand fully , even to an expert. So i think if i should actually bother my small mind with such feeble attempts at solving this question. Some people believe in talking to plants, i suppose to make them feel good and not feel self conscious about their thorns, but it can't do any lasting effect on the plant, can it? I doubt it. But what do I know? What i do know, is a plant needs these things to grow. Like the plant here, where i originate. the soil is tender and a dark brown colour. The soil is thick and has small insects being portrayed swimming around in the dirt. The root of the flower is buried deep underground, the small white hints of the roots can be seen like sprinkles on a childs cake in the compost. The thin, sturdy stem of the plant grows to the magnificent heights of the green godess in the point of view of the ants that littered earth below. The top of the stem, hidden by the flowered bud finalises the green cord and holds the petals up in a slouch. Petals with gradient colours of warm memories fall off the flower to land at the foot of the greenery. The beauty and complicity of the flower lay invisible to the folk that walk past. Sometimes daily. Their thoughts too clouded with familes, work and the coloured picture on the box last night. No one would give a second, nor first glance at me, here, lying uproot in the soil, unless my fragile stem was substituted for a gasper. My friends and family that used to live amongst me have long since departed. They used to protect us from the green beasts that got near us. Spraying somethings to ourselves to begone of their hungry appetites and bodies. But that was before. Now i can see one of the things getting nearer and nearer to me and their appetite is undoubtedly big. The folk continue to pass me, not thinking of my existence that will unevitably cease soon. The dirt clings to thier bodies while they slither towards me and my expressionless petals do nothing but wait for death as it stares at my not-yet wilting form.