Let us come to an understanding
That what I want to do,
And what I need to do
Correlate little
Within the grand scheme
That is the static
Of the universe

I write not for my arts sake...
I write for my hearts ache...

I write not to remind myself...
I write to re-mind myself...

He gave me dead flowers
So I can smell them every day
The rotten petals falling
The color of decay

The washed out sunflower
The dehydrated leaves
The mold on the water
The color of debris

The richly red rose
Now drooping to the floor
The color of love
Existed no more

But still I saved the flowers
And smelled them every day
And watered them with tears
To let them grow again.

In sleep, I die a little more
Than where I’d been the night before.
My heart, tho’ pounding in my chest,
Wanes each and ev’ry passing breath
For nothing done can now restore.

By day, I live a little less.
Time marches on. I only guess
I’m closer to a bitter end
As Time has never been my friend,
Tho’ much was wasted, I confess.

I pause, contrite, in deep lament
For useful energy— never spent,
Or opportunity— never taken;
Disappeared— left forsaken,
Wond’ring where my youth was sent?

Now, I could dwell and wonder why
In pity for my clouded eyes,
Or rise, take in, as chances wait
For open heart. It’s not too late
To live before my time to die!