The Purple Room-2

He sits on the park bench, watching the little flower fall,
It swirls, it floats around, and it finally touches the ground,
He picks it up, decorates it with his thoughts, and gives it a form,
His stare burns the empty petals down to ash, the flower dies,
His brain, a crumbled leaf, the blind spot of his life.

He sits in his room, stares at the flickering television screen,
The black and the white dots, make up his life, empty to the end,
He watches the color change, and life come to the screen, a drama unfolds,
His fingers move across, presses the power off, the drama fades,
His brain, a crumbled leaf, the blind spot of his life.

He walks up on the street, sees a beggar sitting, begging by the side,
A nickle he throws at the beggar, as he runs away, runs in disgust,
The beggar doesn't say a thing, continues to beg for his daily bread,
The nickle turns to gold, a loss for the man who gave, and a gain for the beggar,
The brain, a crumbled leaf, the blind spot in our lives.

The Purple Room - 1