by 21st Century Poet, @21st_C_Poet
Incomprehensibly, at the foot of a skyscraper, amongst the gray concrete, the detritus,
I found a lavender plant.
The wind blew a crumpled receipt against it and the core of an apple lay dumbly on its slightly exposed roots.
The lavender seemed content there, one could even say robust.
It was thriving and perfect in itself
amongst the lost and the carelessly cast aside,
totally ignorant of its former holy self—or one should say, the holiness
attributed to it.
It did not hate—or love for that matter—
it just was,
existing, sometimes thriving, in the city, under the skyscraper.