The sky is
A graveyard of stars

And I remark
Something so tragically beautiful

Just like fireworks of art
From here to the nearest star

And I wish
I could lay awake
In the night

With you
And our lingering hearts

And tell you all about a tragedy
Called life

You are one of the many flowers that blooms
Yet you stand bold
Bright
And still

Still vase
Still vivid
Still striking

Chaos and order
Your call

Love and despise
Your cast

You rise
Brush the destruction
And all that is left of you is
A single corolla

...In my mind

I might seem a bit mystic but I’m good at heart

A small garden rakes over my eyes and a head digging in and scrapping away

She says,

My heart is like a cleft pomegranate
Bleeding crimson red,
And dripping every seed on the ground
It’s ripe and over-full,

My dissatisfied heart,
My heart it is more human than I,
More than life itself

Often
My heart cries but my eyes are dry,


And behold my friend
This is what I call my brief tragedy of flesh
Tragedy of life

My very demise