She closed the door gently then,
Shutting the space between
us then;
and then,

silence filled my head

not something quiet
or when thoughts come to talk,
but the silence that sits there
quietly as it knows,
something that was once there

is no longer here

Wilted rose rotting in the garden
Winters approaching the ground has hardened

It’s cold and wet and the wilted rose
stands bent over in a lazy pose

Her petals have turned dark and brown rotting, in that garden ground

That wilted rose is all alone
hunched by little garden stone

No one thinks that rose is pretty
Stands bent over in the city

All the cars go past the rose
Watching it as it doesn’t grow

Petal falling out a day at a time
Wondering if that rose could have been mine

Be a kindergarten teacher
Or
A Magician;
Be those things
That no one else would be
Because
Tomorrow’s an option too
and they can be later -
Sleep outside.
Sleep with the window open.
Sleep on the floor
And imagine you’re the queen
That sails a ship into a thousand candy islands;
Imagine, imagine, imagine.
Drink coffee in the evening
And lose yourself in the swirls.

Be now.

I'm older now,
something
I wasn't before -
I could throw myself away
to hide myself
from what scares me
the most -
But maybe tomorrow,
when I'm an older man,
will speak differently
than what I can

We met
when the cold just began
to talk -
Our Conversations being carried
by the ghosts that sprang from
our words -
You left an imprint,
something,
I'm afraid,
that will never seem to part -
I called you beautiful
and you never called me back;
and so now as I breathe
my lonely words,
No one's there to watch
my conversation carry away
with the ghosts

the heart is the fragilest of things
said she
yes, indeed, like a tea cup
said he

If beauty is
what comes from a flower
that blooms,
then no winter must surround
your name,
no breeze could call you different,
for all those petals
that open to something pretty
imitate
the beauty you have become