The lily of life, full of humility and devotion - the beautiful kind
that everyone would choose to pick from the fields I think you'll find.
One who defied the definition of a heroic inspiration,
your talent outshone all others; you caused quite the sensation.

You tenaciously grasped onto your stem of life
with the insidious poison of demise within your cells rife,
your colours darkening and fading away,
and yet you remained God's most beautiful creation each and every day.

As your petals fluttered down, by your side was your wife
while you heart-wrenchingly closed the circle of your life.
Now, we all shall miss watching you bloom through the days
and we will remember you, forever and ALWAYS .

I wish upon the burning candle;
I pray for this to be my last - another year of despondency I cannot handle.
I wish arduously for nothing but my quietus as I blow out the ember,
and everybody claps without a second thought about what my wish could render.

I hold dear the melody that escapes the ray of sunshine upon our faces all the way from the lungs;
everybody sings the symphonies even though we may speak in different tongues.
It echoes through the hall and makes everybody smile in unity;
the euphony of laughter creates community and is full of beauty.

Overcome with emotion; so compressed
as if filled by a fatal venom on a quest -
a beautiful release founded within circumfusing
my entire soul onto parchment - my secrets oozing.
Art is not my craft - but a lifeline that stops me from fading away;
although I wish not to live, I live to write one more day.

Bottles without their seals or caps - just sitting there,
little foil packets torn open in despair
empty of their contents to make me feel less blue,
leaving nothing in the bottom but white residue.

A pile of poison o' so sweet in a capsule form bundle,
travels down the claustrophobic and murky tunnel,
and sits within the pit of my stomach with it all
drowning in a stream composed of ethanol.

Euphoria sweeps through my veins,
I dance; a ballerina at 4am,
making the very most of my ability
knowing I'll soon breathe my last with docility.

I'm a poppy made of dried metallic blood; bitter,
wilting and fading in a never ending winter,
my lifeless petals falling like brittle carmine confetti so solemn
upon the grass where a newborn papaver rhoeus will begin to blossom.

I am a myth and something that cannot be defined,
ablaze with the fiery heat of a life that has been most unkind.

With a touch of a feather I ignite a match,
wanting nothing more than to detach
myself from the earth that caused my tribulation,
and to cause my own cremation.

Black ash darkening the sky's midst,
I am being kissed
by the scorching blaze of a newborn flame
my last breath unnoticed as the calm overcame.

Rising from the ashes, I am born again,
powerful, exultant, majestic through all the pain.