I am just a humble houseplant,
a servant to my Master
I clean the air as I work
to help him breathe
encased, as he is,
surrounded by plaster.
We balance each other, my Master and I,
his trinkets and machines yield music, tenor
and when accompanied by his voice, clamor.
I am silent, soft and unspoken
a radiant blessing to him for moments
of peace or meditation.
I ask not much in return,
simple victuals sustain me
bring me water and I grow,
roots nestling deeper
leaves reaching farther
increasing in potential, in power.
Left unattended, ignored,
my silent scream exhausts me
I have no language, no voice, no sign
suddenly I’m pale, weak, and wilting,
looking bleak to my doting, amiable Master.
The inviting sunlight he moves me to
brings revitalization, enveloping
warmth, carrying comfort.
But beckoning maiden turns to siren
I crisp and burn too fast,
swiftly crinkle and crumble,
I fall to the floor.
Once thirsty, now parched
I beg again for nutrition,
Drooped and brittle,
the remedy, my Master knows, is easy
I bathe delightfully in the water
he so copiously gives me.
But his medical methods, still lacking
leave me drowning, battling hard
the thought to simply rest, to give in to sleeping.
Not daring to let the light die out,
I make it through
by the skin of my teeth
and the strength of my root
I’m beginning again,
this time as just a wee sprout.
With memory as weapon,
and even stronger roots my arsenal,
I grow vigorously, robust
hearty and tenacious;
elegant and tall I stand,
picturesque for a season.
My Master meant no harm,
doing what he thought was best,
but he still hasn’t learned
so I adapt alone
my example to him never known.
New found vitality makes him smile
and I continue on cheerfully
knowing one day, I may
meet my fate by his hand.
For I am just a humble houseplant
I clean his waste, provide him oxygen,
his happiness my goal
It is all I ever wanted from life, afterall
I cannot ask for more.