While out walking on a cold windy morning, I noticed a lone flower peeking out between the sidewalk bricks. I slowed my pace, admired the flower's tenacity, and then even stopped to snap a photo.
As my mind flashed to one of Paul's writings, I realized the source of my inspiration. You'll understand when you read "A Flower in Filth" -- written by Paul in 2011. As always, I did not correct misspellings.
Does that flower growing from rubble exist all alone? is it seen by the soldier's dying eyes or the drunken youth outside of the corner store, weeping? Does it shed its grace on their chills?
As the factory boilers settle their smog, leaving shadows on an abandon city; this flowers peddles are alive and blush, shining brightly red, reflecting innocence upon the landfill on witch it sits. But does it notice poverty or rage?
Trash and a dying breed of people so hungry for love, surround this flower's immaculate existence. These people are bleeding for a thirst of destruction that could never be quenched and the flower witnesses it all, but does it ask why in all of its divinity?
And as these withering crowds die at the bitter earth, this flower just springs forth from its own purity, feeding of the soil forgotten. It doesn't expect pity, and it doesn't know of starving families, it just knows its instinct to survive, to exhale new life, and to reconstruct natures needs.
All this and does it expect recognition? Does it want a reward for its struggle coming up? Does it anger and tense when bottles and trash are cast at its feet?
No...it just turns to the suns beams and lives up to its destiny, at the opening and closing of every day. That little flower knows god's law better than any of us.