The Ultimate in Boring Crap for Your Enjoyment

Chaos Theory

A flower blooms, breaking free,
wet with fresh rain that glistens in the sun;
a mother, sick and scared, breathes her last alone,
for her family is already dead from drought.

A blackbird caws, disturbing the air,
whipping it down with angry wings;
a son, pink and new, is born mute,
forced to love the world in silence.

A tree limb cracks, crashing down in a storm,
unable to withstand the wind's fury;
a father, red with anger, inhales sharply,
does not strike his daughter.

A tree limb.
A blackbird.
A flower.
Who knew the insignificant held such power?
______________________________________________________
It's not original, it's not good. I'm depressed.

::EDIT::
Blackberries

I sometimes feel a craving for blackberries.
Not because I love the taste,
Not because they are my favorite,
But because they are keys to my memory.
I see the faded light and always sunny day of childhood,
I see the ever-smiling face and perfect long hair of my best friend
each time I stain my mouth with a simple berry.

In this memory everything was country,
And I believed with a child's faith that the trees and grasses went on forever.
My friends and I would long for summer, impatient for the dry heat,
And we knew with our first cup of hard-won berries that it was here.

Most kids just scoured the edge of the patch,
Afraid to venture into the bracken and get the best ones.
But we would go deeper, far into the thorns,
Sleeveless and often shoeless, just to get first choice.
The cuts and scratches would burn for days, but we didn't care;
They added the flavor of victory to the cupfuls,
and made the hose water that washed them all down seem like wine.

~W.D.W.

It's not what I want yet. Ah, well, at least it's not as bad as the last one I cranked out today.

Am I being too hard on myself? Maybe I just am not used to a non-rhyming style...I feel a craving for meter. And my language choice seems so bland.