Gas Station Ephemeral

In the flickering light of the gas station’s glow,

a bouquet stands limply, with petals that bow.

Dying in silence, the colors fade fast,

remnants of beauty, a moment that passed.

I linger by stems, where hope used to bloom,

the air thick with scents that flirt with the gloom.

These wilting companions whisper of loss,

of love that was once, and the weight of the cross.

A single petal drops, like a promise gone dry,

I think of the lives that pass by without try.

And I wonder, in moments, how beauty can flee—

the gas station flowers, reminders of me.