The myriads of colours in the planter box
blazed a tantalising entreaty.
Come, bask in my glory,
smell my magnificent scent,
be astonished with my scantily clad form.
Beneath these petals
the glory of God is hiding.
I glanced below —
not at the god beneath the petals,
but at something silver,
shiny and round,
residing under the window on the street.
Its wide-open mouth betrayed its greed,
and its emptiness.
A deep cavern,
a thunderous void,
it too beckoning
with an alluring canticle of its own.
I wanted to jump in.
There lay safety,
quiet solace,
and a sense of despair
all in a convenient body-sized cylinder.
All I needed to do was jump.
God, I wanted to jump —
it would serve me well.
All the garbage I carried
would be conveniently disposed of
when the truck arrived the next morning.
It even had a silver lid,
and a neat little clip
to hold its silence —
along with my own.
Every cloud, they say,
has a silver lining.
And here was mine,
ready and waiting.
I looked back at the flowers.
They were doing nothing
except being what they were —
rooted,
open,
breathing light.
For a moment longer,
I stayed with them