Wild Flowers

People are wild flowers waving in the wind. The ones that are the sweetest, prettiest, and have all their petals are chosen first. Uprooted with a sweaty fist.

And its fellows watch in awe and wonder, wishing they were between those fingers.

Wishing they had been chosen. Dubbed Beautiful Enough to be picked.

But the uprooted are placed in a glass vase.

And they rarely see the sun.

They are isolated. Seen only by the eyes of the person who condemned it in the first place.

Without nutrients, light and friends this Special Flower child -- this Chosen One -- doesn't realize until too late that its life has leaked out and fallen from its scalp.

They are dry. Brittle.

And then replaced.

The cycle repeats again.

Just like what happens with the human race.