Boundless Eternity
A rare, delicate and beautiful flower has many admirers but only one, true gardener.
It is her gardener to whom she fully amplifies her radiance, releases her fragrance and extends the tenderness of her ripe and strong stem, a homage to him who delivered her first, pure nourishment.
Her voluptuous display ensnares the gaze of many passersby. And, she extracts their transferable energy as temporal sustenance while absent from the caress of her master.
Ever an astute and delicate diplomat, the flower returns her onlookers’ anticipation with a brilliant production, a communal dance of color, emitting just a hint of her sweet aroma and a glimmer of her vibrance.
Her concert exudes her abundant value and potency, yet she reserves her full power for him only.
It is toward her giver alone she will expend all she has—her beauty, zest and her uniquely sweet salve containing her love…which only the master horticulturalist’s palate is trained to sample. There are no contenders!
She will give her all joyfully and without reservation because it is to him she fulfills her purpose: to BE… beautiful, strong, stimulating, a beacon of hope, colorful, uplifting, joyful, healing, sustaining, peaceful, a legacy of love and a dowry toward his imagined eternity!
She is fully obedient to his heart’s desire, being that of a different eternity than he’s ever dreamed. It is his one and only yearning.
Over time, and as days draw dim, the constant gardener contractually feeds his elegant iron. Albeit, he does so amiss...
He no longer offers his best nutrients, as he perceives he will cease to garner a return on investment from his bountiful flower.
He perceives, erroneously, by what talent the flower’s abundance appeared and predicts a yield of diminishing returns if he continues to endow his most coveted earthly goods.
In truth, the flower’s opulence existed by his nourishment of love and adoration, never by his world renowned, curated concoctions.
Alas, “all things must die---it is the lot of the living--and the one thing which defies eternity,” he reasoned to the flower, who activated his heart.
He embraces death’s harshness and buries deep his birthright, the seed of love and the ONLY eternity, providing his flower minimal sustenance, weaning her of vital nourishment, knowing his calculated starvation pact of one will expedite the flower’s demise, albeit in the earthly realm.
He rehearsed his melodically caustic lullaby of love to her ear, in the key of Robert Frost, “nothing gold can stay.”
Death, as the gardener understands, is the only true eternity, although he craved an alternative. However…
He had not discerned his flower’s awareness. She knew she would die an untimely death at her master’s hand but would not despise her fate, as any self-determination, apart from her architect’s wisdom, would be unloving, she conceded.
Her soft and faint voice whispered to his distant, grave heart, “if I must perish by my gardener’s hand then it is right I should perish, but ONLY by his trained hand.”
She knew he was as deeply acquainted with preparation for the grave as he was the gift of life affirming, which affirmation he would allow his heart no more.
She was devoted to him you see, even in the face of death. Therefore, she embraced his painstaking sentence, which some would pair with torture.
Yes, the master was aware of the cruelty of starvation but considered it a fitting companion for immutable demise and unrequited love, both being lifelong partners.
He served his flower a final, poisonous meal of neglect, which she received as his just and sweet nectar. She perceived its power to kill, as she drank voraciously to her death.
She wept and rejoiced while returning her power, as down payment, to the hand of her love for the most noble cause…a “future and a hope.” This she accomplished for an invisible but living eternity. The kind of eternity for which her master yearns and will one day enjoy.
He kissed his flower once more as she bowed to his will, her petals falling limp within his palms-- shriveled under the coolness of his moon.
He fulfilled his duty, so convicted is he...it is his strength
And she has served her earthly purpose--so yielding is she...it is her strength
Neither the flower nor her author’s life remain.
She died facing his hardest love.
He died burying hers.
He was her prince of the moon, so she rests under the moonlight.
She was his sunlight so he awaits an eternal sunrise.
Neverending love awaits them both because of his first devotion of boundless nourishment toward her and because of her final dedication of obedience and hope toward him.
Love is obediently boundless and therefore, eternal!
The end is the beginning...
©
9/17/2018
Crystal Black, as Blackhandmade
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