Midnight Dandelion

Sunburst, dandelion growing from the epicenter of a grenade blast...

I don't feel like poetry,
I don't write when I'm wrong,
I can't fake my way through the most ancient of songs.
When the Winter Solstice sets,
I'm the first that always forgets, 
what it means to be a man.
How do I how when I don't know how?
Why do I why and then wonder why?
All I have left is a bright light in the sky.
But it shines from the inside,
and it's enough.