I am terribly afraid of burning to death
and I am not very keen on freezing either
So if i would choose
I would probably choose neither.
or if the world had to perish in any manner
I wish to be dead before any encounter

It is not what they built.
all our cities, twin cities?
When far away an interrupted cry!

I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction
It is what you have forgotten.

We all admire them in our own way
Those Beautiful Blooming Bright Blue Bells in vases.
Them Rich Rampant Red Roses scattered in the fields.
All of them with such sweet smells
Ever rich Ever Enticing Everblooms I put out on the window sill
Odorous Ominous Orange Orchids you lay atop that cold tombstone.
But like all living things return to the ground
Death Devours Dainty Flowers.
Wilting wastefully within glass cases,
Withering Waning in the wild.
For as much as we try
As pretty as they may be
All flowers die
Like the love you promised me.

I have known the suffering of an inked paper,
Crumpled and thrown away in underappreciated trash bins,
Shoved in the corner between the two cold, unloved walls,
Covered and repainted with an old tattered brush,
Dipped and soaked in that aged drying paint,
Left in the basement with the hot headed furnace,
Tirelessly warning up that cold barren house,
Situated at the end of a long winding road hidden amidst the undergrowth.
Tucked away in this silent suburb a weak barely beating heart,
That lay crippled on a crimson creaking couch,
Standing beside a brown boring table,
Resting on top is a tattered trashed folder,
Inside which a crumpled piece of paper.