Petals on the Ocean Floor

A starry night and a worried moon,
look upon two fragile flowers in the midst of their bloom.
The cold sets in, of fading and wilting
petals breaking as voices are lilting.

Together embraced, though struggling to survive,
the moment that is lived for is that which keeps them alive.
inhaling breath as a past cloud envelopes their frames,
and the thunderstorm erupts of which neither of them blames.

Lips are sealed and thoughts erupt in time,
patience is kindred to love unbound sublime.
A decade of coupling of one flower to another,
soft caresses bleed into the substance of each other.

A rain pours forth from a black and darkened cloud,
and souls cry out with trepid hatred of things obscene and loud,
cursing the darkness that seeks to destroy,
sometimes the light that reveals the true ploy.

Fallen tears shed at a distance while covering their descent,
words held in silence to convey what was meant.
still, the wind blows hard against the frail leaves,
and the molten lava bubbles beneath the surface of the eaves.

A cataclysmic apocalypse stands ready to devour the flowers,
as days are revealed by the tumultuous hours.
Pushing against all odds to finish the race before them both,
they gravitate to one another with a pledge for nothing but growth.

A ghost from the past, a light from the future,
intertwines with the present in a sense that's insecure.
Smiles and words envelop the moment,
but a wall invades the space and the previous closeness now laments.

A brush with time, a random chance,
sparked the flame the erupted from an admirer's advance,
spinning things completely out of place,
erasing the intimacy and replacing with silence in its space.

A longing and memory of once what was built,
seeing the area of void that lies unfulfilled.
A taste of time, a fragrance in the moment,
aroma of love still protrudes through the air despite an atonement.

How can it resurrect when a gloomy shadow forecasts,
when an ambuscade is sealed and the present awaits a moment of blasts?
Where will the petals fall, where will they wilt and fade
among the pixels of dust or between the sharp green blades?

I know not how the flowers escaped this place,
they found their way through time and through pleasures all without a trace.
Still, they cling to the hope of what may become,
but hope is dashed amid understandable desires that add to an uncontrollable sum.

What once had promise seems a closed door,
a haze and a fog permeate what was once so clear on love's fair shore.
Now, there's turmoil and strife ahead,
and it seems the fragrance of life is turning to the odor of the dead.

No words can repair, no longings can bring healing,
across the painted sky, the covering of earth's ceiling.
The anchor is drawn up, the sea casts its waves
the lapping of the salt against the wood's hull in cold liquid caves.

To the depths it drops, sinking as fast as it rose,
the joy and the bliss only each flower knows.
Darkness surrounds them as they perceive what is coming next,
as the petals settle into the sand among the rotting shipwrecks.