So much depends upon a lone flower

With a broken stem

Shaking and struggling against the relentless wind

Do damaged beings have a place or purpose we cannot see?

Is there a reason it clings to life so dearly?

You ponder the question but accept that you may never know

Meanwhile I am haunted incessantly by the desire for an answer

Because I am that flower with the broken stem

And the wind feels stronger today

The twisting, howling, turbulent wind

Are you the reason my question is always met with silence?

Because so much depends upon the answer