Dead of Night (Inverted Optimism)

Outwardly it never matters, yet I can't help but wonder. I have a need to know so I can manipulate. I want to be the apple yet not perceived as fruit..

A bed of flowers grow in the dark, disjointed by a purloined beauty's subtle mark.
They're out of sight and they abstain, anointed by and rejoined with bittersweet disdain.
All kept in a boundless garden, shy and smitten, affronted by nature's wanton pardon.
What is light beyond colored revelation, and why do you only pray before you fall asleep?

Where our lies are all shared and the sky is written, I'll never go, but I'm not scared..

With a stubborn and ignorant stride you pulverize petals too proud to hide.
They all seem hungry and neglected, somehow hampered yet protected -
but they rebelled, snuffed out the sun, because they believe in dangerous fun.
A handful of death can keep them alive, they know how to hate and how to strive.

While you're trotting I may greet you, but don't forget, once you're rotting I will eat you..

Nothing left but silent stars, leery and livid, the dead of night hides our scars.
We questioned without words, teary and vivid, were we jealous of the birds?
We made our lives to be stolen, dry and bitten, but our pride remains swollen.
What is night beyond a lustful impulse, and has the morning ever made you feel alive?