A garden was built for all to see.

I walk in, expecting the smell of flowers

to hit me like a wave crashing down on to 

the sand.

Instead, all that hit me was the realization that

all the flowers had wilted.

Had I come too late? No.

The earth was damp and the the shining

made the air as warm as toasted bread.

The soil had been made to be rich in the 

necessities of the dull colored flowers.

Everything was perfect. Everything, but the

muted rainbow still begged to be helped.

What else did it need?

I picked up a rose, a singular rose.

The color had been pink but it was

so lifeless that you could barely tell it ever

had color at all.

My hand turned red with a thick liquid.

The thorns, which once protected the

rose, now hurt those who meant it no 

harm.

I pulled gingerly at a petal like a school girl

playing, "He loves me, he loves me not."

One pull, 2 pulls, 3, and it's already crumbling like

I'm squeezing packed snow.

I stare at the pale green beneath me,

watching the petals ashes fall gently.

I walked to the gate of the dead garden

filled with disappointment, hoping someone

could fix it.

Someone else to do the job.

I never saw the spotted leaves spilling out

of the garden.