Weeds

Whose eyes were they, might I ask?
Nearly hidden in coal ash.
Yet like diamonds they shone through,
Quickly then, like weeds they grew.

Around my bones went their gaze,
Taking root in my hearts maze.
Desperately, I pulled and tore.
The hold was strong, my hands sore.

First, flowers bloomed from the weeds,
But then came thorns and their seeds.
Completely in their tight hold,
My heart lost warmth and turned cold.