There are stories in your eyes.

I never told you how
sometimes I fell asleep
with the thought that you
were perhaps the moon-

always disappearing
with the dawn.

Shoulder to shoulder, we stood
in our search for contellations and resolution
we found forever in that darkened sky
somewhere just beyond all the confusion

Its the perfect kind of meditation,
smokin on that ****,
eased my mind now im spacin,
sprouted a new life like a seed,
Getting to success minds pacin.

its the perfect kind of medication!

Dark clouds covered all
with shades of grey, and peace
covered all beings.

A warm blanket, soft,
my deep worries comforted
by mother nature.

Rain gently fell on
the brick path in the courtyard,
where I walked slowly.

I whispered softly
into the candle's tired flame.
Calmed, it fell asleep.

Extinguished worries
fall to the ground in laughter.
A lotus opens.

one small leaf
set adrift
from the tree

torn asunder
in wind rain
and thunder

battered
by
life's storm

now balances
pecariously
on table's edge

not yet ready
to become
detrius underfoot

waiting
daring,
demanding
to become
just another
fond,
frail memory

pale
green
perfection

unblemished
bar the untimely
amputation

each cell
delineated
in cellular beauty

taken
far too
young

sometimes
you gotta
hate

natural
selection's
descisions

sometimes
mother nature
is dumb...

crushed
but
not defeated

they
leaf brothers
and sisters
will but
carry on....

for they
are
young and hopeful

ignorant
but
strong

one death
can be absorbed
and lost in living on

the tree
will
stretch
ever upward

for that
is the
tree's

everlasting
song

seek
the sun

seek
the sun

and you
can never
go wrong.

They said your name on the announcements this morning, but you weren't around to hear it.  
They spoke it just like anyone else would, but the tone they had was all wrong.  
The curves in the letters of your name -much like the curves of your hourglass figure- did not drip off the announcer's tongue like they should have.  
They were summoned from the front of their brain rather than the inkiest depths of their heart.  
They said your name flat, grim and thin like dull graphite.  
They read you prayer, but I'm not quite sure what it contained, because the moment they spoke your name on the announcements this morning, the floor rushed up and up and up until the crack of my head met the vanilla scrubbed tile.  
The room blurred and the room buzzed and the announcer continued to talk in his unsharpened pencil rasp, and I hoped and hoped and hoped some more that they played our song at your burial.