My Lost Purple Iris

My appologentic sympathy
which lacked the simplication of my company.
Forgetful, I am.
To bore you with my day-to-day problems
of selfishness and hoarding of your emotion
which give me your appology.
I thrive in the sorrow deep within
your pores to clog
and destroy the beauty you used to have.
Your never ending flow of life
sent straight through purple irises
that grasp my pupils in the form known as language.
Yet I cannot accept
that such an unadulterated gift
that is foreign and unknown to me.
This new treasure
usually held high and above heads is simply handed to me.
No work put forth
and nothing I've done worth a reward.
Other than being lucky enough to see you