I want to feel her arms around me
Like folds of flesh
That engulf me
To feel her squeeze me tightly
As if she wants and needs me
To feel her breast upon my back
Keeping the void that lays behind me at bay
I want to feel her holding on to me
And we don’t have to say
A single word at all

I am not lazy when I do not finish a book.
If it does not snag
and sweep me up in revelry,
explode my soul with inspiration,
or cause new insights to flood from me,
if I am not immersed to the point
that the I of me ceases to be,
if it is not for learning or
these other things,
then it is not for me.

Tis blood and fury
and for its cause
you would build a wall
and construct more bombs
to **** more kids,
to destroy more lives,
and never stop
While acquiring the disguise
to protect you from
the consequences
of your profit driven life.

Tis pain and sorrow
that you built
brick by clay brick
fire by fire
not in a kiln,
but in the hateful decree
of your religious immorality
setting stranger against stranger
calling those who revolt
heretics, blasphemers,
or apostates,
while claiming hate
is equal to love.

Tis my tears and rage
as I push my face
into my pillow case
to scream
because you do not listen to me
and slowly my humanity
turns towards wrath.
I stray, walking away
from my old forgiveness
and redemption days
and fantasizing about
your gruesome demise.

I timidly try to engage those whom I find have intriguing minds. Perhaps it better to forgo the human clutter, observe, absorb, and project the qualities of humanity that I value the most. So, I will walk my weary heart back into the cave that holds the reflecting pool. I will traverse that shadows, detach from that which bonds me to you, and seek only art and truth.

You brought me
a shattered dagger,
a rusted waste
rolled up in
a fat flag
that is
bloated with
the victims of
its symbolism.

Life is a cold fusion cancer
A perpetual engine of disaster
Blasting stray rays of pain
Drive by bullets that stray
Too far and close to be ok
A bacteria devouring the planet
A sentence to death
For merely existing
And all it leaves me wishing
Is for one more day

You ******* soul sucker
*******
Take it all
All the pain
The bruises and the shame
The yelling games
The degradation
The frustration
The humiliation
Take it all
No give it the **** back
Because it is mine

You meet in committees
with shareholders from
war contractors
watching them proclaim,
“We need more money
and less oversight.
We need to expand our
external influence.”

Their words spread
like the bubonic plague.
Such a phage,
yet they still say,
“We have to delay
China
and Russia
from doing the same.”

So we put up
the TTP,
while the drones
we made
invade
other countries.

You say, “we are
the only people
who can save
the whole world
and it will take
business interest
to truly preserve
our military power.”

You say……

I have to turn you off.
I have to turn away,
because my tears fall.
They are tears of rage.
You never hear me
no matter what I say.
So, ******* America
you are not great,
stop putting your greed,
inhumanity, and stupidity
in display in a parade
of such extremely
violent charades.

I am rage reborn
for seeing pain
reformed from
the darkest corners,
that I thought we had
softly sanded for
sanity and safety’s sake.
Instead, we turn them from
smooth circle tables of
accepting love
where all are equal
to jagged edges of destruction,

Today has born
this ****** sequel
from these filthy forms
of violence.
Look at that child,
that refugee
who was turned away.
Look at that broken person
who looks to you for hope.

Look at the drone.
See the money made
by wealthy fools
playing foolish war games.
Their turn is done,
the cards they play
are the joker’s cap
red running stain.

Look at the child
who was once so lovely.
Now he rots under
the rubble of his city.
Now his sister is *****.
His mother is incinerated.
His father is decapitated,
and the progenitor of
his suffering is celebrated
and elevated by the masses.
I rage in pain
and yell to you
shame, shame, shame,
though I know the truth.
You have no use
for such introspective things
cause you’d rather play
the consumer game
then give a **** about
other human beings.

Why should she want a love
That says it owns her
And the only thing that matters
Is losing herself in it
Why can’t she have a love
That grows with her
And in its’ wonder finds herself
Growing to

When she sings I cry
I am stuck on stilts
Kissing clouds
Suckling on her voice
Supping up the gravy of her thighs
Her music
Makes me feel
The soft muscles
Her tight abs
Behind those glasses
Light eyes sparkle
White lies
Dancing in the lyrics
For anyone who wants to feel it
She is like ******
My addiction
And I keep coming
And coming back again
Running my hands through her hair
But that is in dreams
That is when dreams end
And I come back down to earth
Crashing
Comet cracking the crust
Spitting and spewing musical dust
And if lust isn’t enough
Then I must
Keep my distance

Do not let them
press your pain
against the fence,
scraping your
thin skin veins
against its sharp
metal parts.

Do not let them
mutilate your heart.
It is not their part
to play an
integral roll
in how you grow.
You will rise
despite them.

Do not let go;
Know that though
you are only
passing familiars
that tread
the creeping causeways
driving in, around,
and eventually
all the way out
of this living town,
I love you all.

I was made for rivers of pain
Not plain crab but red grass
Smoked inside an appled colored flame
Dazzling while I dapple in the rain
Stained like church windows
Ready to crack before I crumble
Ready to rock before I rumble
Ready to bleed before I am humbled
Loneliness and uncertainty
Are spooks that keep ******* me
Ghosts that keep haunting me
Camouflaged and hunting me
Longing for the curves of her spine
To touch that thin line
That creases her smile
But I watch from a distance
Keep the memory of a dream
Keep the lie of what might have been
Add it to my repertoire
Stirring it in sweet saccharin
But bitter as black coffee
The same color of her luscious flesh
Another heaven that I haven’t touch yet
Another sorrow for the lack of
That makes pain in to artistic stuff

There is no shame in your dark brown skin
Man, keep that ***** curly hair
My brother you are beautiful the way you are
Bronze shell cooked beneath the raging sun
Strong body paled in the shadows of your mind
Spirit singing out to the world with all your potential
There is no shame in holding another man’s hand
Or two ladies kissing each other so deep that their souls melt together
Passionate eyes penetrating and pounding against social injustice
You are human art formed in flesh warm to lovers touch
And can never be appreciated enough
There is no ******, ****, ****, ***, or ****
These words are not strong
Enough to contain or control you
You are deeper than the depths of space
Eyes shining brighter than any dying star
Hate cannot own your power nor will it steal from you my love and respect
There is no shame in being different
Because we are all different
We wear the layers of time and space differently
We all see the world from different angles
We are five billion different dimensions
Five billion different perspectives
We are five billion beautiful bodies with brains to match
And wonders beyond measure what a wonderful thing you are
There is no shame in being what you are
Cause you are spectacular

Check them off one by one
Till my list is finally done
First item of the day
Is pick up my crap and put it away
The dusty book on my floor
The marked on notebooks behind the door
Trinkets and toys I never use
The games which no longer amuse
The old black book of names refused
I toss them out whether their old or new

Second item on my list of things I need to do
Clean out my closet filling up a bag or two
With things, and memories to give to you
C.D.s, letters, sweaters, and P.S. two
Drop them off on your front door step
Then drive away all by myself

Third thing on this very long list
Though this heartache still persists
Though I know you are still ******
And we will never get through this
Here is a letter from me on my way out

Explaining what this list is about
With one ticket and two tough suitcases
I leave this town to see the Pamplona bull races
Many men intend to run and I count as another one
This bucket list you see is a list of my fantasies

A large lump and two terrible masses
Clog my natural flow through which this refuse passes
SO before I go I had to make this trip
And finish off my bucket list

The poet philosopher is more daring by far. For their is no par to hit, no height to attain or place where he/she may fit. All there is, is to see, feel, breath, think, and write it.

The tea steams microwave heated.
I add some coconut oil cause
they say it is great,
full of nutrients
so, I sit drink and ruminate.

The day has just begun.
Here comes the rising sun.
People rise to walk to work,
but I do not move among them.
I am not one of their number.
I abdicated that fate I hated,
predetermined patterns,
predestination set in order
to maintain the wealthy man’s
desire for money and power.

Busses rumble with loud children.
Yellow beasts bellowing through
my neighborhood and onto
the schoolyard I once knew.
It was a place where children scorned
all the words and other things I knew.
Even though I longed to join their crew
all they knew how to do
was alienate young individuals
who sought the truth.

So, I sit and stew about our youth
as my friend finds his coffee to brew.
He tells me about this new youtube dude
who plays video games and gets lots of views
making millions of dollars.
All I can think is I am a great writer,
but my god daughter loves him to.
I abominate, abominate is a great word
the weak willed sheep who follow
untalented *******.
I shudder.
Then yawn and stretch.
I blink.
“****” I think.
I need more sleep.

It is too early for me.
I am too tired to be
this frustrated with society.
So, I go back to sleep
to find a better world
within my dreams.

In allowing love
to envelope us
we lose so much.

We become robots
preprogrammed to
procreate and create
another generation.

The veneration of
people who are
only fulfilled
by the ******
they spilled.

There are other
ways to be,
other versions
you can see,
of struggling
to set yourself
free.

But most want
to abdicate
their responsibility
in favor of
the love they savor
that craving addiction
an easy prediction.

Tv and literature,
movies and songs,
got the good stuff
all wrong.
We are more
then halves
of a whole.
We are unique
people who
always have
room to grow.
You have
a million memory doors
to walk through
and gain the lessons
from the things
I never knew
you went through to.

So, please write something
deeper than your cliché
heartache
and romantic fantasies.

Cold metal presses against the thin mattress.
There is no pea but he can still feel the springs
It is hard, sharp, jarring, and deeply cutting
He is no princesses and this is no fairytale.

The beast is indifferent, made of concrete.
Barbwire fences mark the difference from
Freedom’s street and the state penitentiary
and he cannot leave this abusive relationship.

They let him go and life was like a candy-coated cabin.
He got himself a job, but kept a lot of bad habits
hopping fences, then breaking into cars,
dating a troubled teenager, and an angry older women.

Head down body laid to rest he did his best
to fall into the deepest sleep in the porcelain tub,
drunkenly stupid, but somebody pulled him out.
He tried to burn himself the same **** night.

An angry apple red thread with a poisonous pointed head
awaits his next big break in mistake
but the price he paid, the things that changed
all came because he smoked some little thing.

It doesn’t take much, in fact any little thing
could take a halfway decent human being
and turn him into to a ward of the State
can take a loving human being and make him hate.

Not all stories end happily ever after.
Not all prisons are left even after
the prisoner is freed, his body may be released.
but the man still flinches,
hardened and tenderized by what he has seen
and what he had to do to make it through
that dark fairytale hell.

It is a book of memories
back is the best place
where I go to face the dark space.

Snot, and red wet skin
fear, and all those beatings
is where the meat of me
fits perfectly.

I race in haste
to waste away in pain
because I do not want
to revisit those memories again.

Emergency room,
holds a one-legged man.
Doctor says he is alright
but the next day he is dead.

However, back is where
the right words remain;
Back where I feel tears
slip down my cheeks
where poetry speaks,
where it moves me.
I open the pages
Turning each one tentatively.

I see my little brother
from baby to man
we just had dinner
just like we planned
and he’s engaged.
He’s has his own place.
We picked up the furniture.
That was almost yesterday

Now back is done.
The page is almost complete
This is where the present
and the paper meets
and ever after is
only white sheets.
See I have go back
to find my present peace.

I’d like to
thank god
for selectively
supporting
a specific
sports team
while
other human beings
are still existing
in unnecessary suffering.

I’d like to
thank god
for letting me
be so wealthy
while a world
of women, men,
and children
are still starving.

I’d like to
thank god
for my sleep
and for being our shepherd
cause we are sheep.
Thank god,
bah bah bah
bah bah bah.

Perhaps we should take comfort in our insignificance. The universe is indifferent. It neither needs or care for our existence. All the reason we need to care about one another is that our existence is so transient. It is most likely we will not revisit this or any other life, so why not treasure those by our side, and be kind to strangers for that reason alone.

If it is a race, then the pace of one set of clouds out does the ones that float above lazily. Smokey dragons cut across Odin’s one good godly eye. The night pursues its cold cool wind muse,
and I cannot lose, because I use this muse so well. I walk the building corner to brick corner unwilling to enter the unyielding nightmare hallways. I do not wish to walk in the white hollow echo chambers, alone and uninspired while the night spirals in lunar delight. I postpone it as long as I can, walking the yellow concrete corners like they are tight high wire. I swerve and struggle to maintain my perfect position, for fear of falling into the black top lava pit. The inside world waits for me like a ravenous beast. Please oh please do not force me to leave the light breeze that brushes my skin gently. Glass and metal doors see me swallowed whole. I did not want to go but now I know this white washed world will be my graveyard fantasy. The red buds on the tree beckon me, but I cannot go back out. The musical clank of metal clips that hang the flags summons me beyond the security doors with their dangerous whipping movements, but I am not allow to explore such freedom. The strangers of varying degrees, shapes, weights, skin tints, hair, and teeth beckons me to question their history. I cannot go out there to the fantastic. No that is a lie. I could if I tried, but I chose to hide in a secure hourly wage paid life. I could leave and let my wanderlust take me where it will. I could go back to Pleasantville, Champaign, Williamsville, Pontiac, Mt. Vernon, and Danville, then go see places I have never been. I could give in to the seductive siren call of landscapes unseen, sounds unheard, and strangers not yet met. Instead I sign my time sheet, walk and repeat, securing nothing. I drive home tired and come back and repeat that as well. I accept the mundane. It is a part of the price I pay for a slice of peace.

Such a fine affair indeed.
Anyone can see,
that hidden in the grays and white
there is a shining light.
You are a form to be treasured
and I am pretty sure
that if the camera could give you words.
It would whisper

"I love you more than I can picture."

I have drowned
a thousand times
in my dreams
but I’ve only seen
the sandy beaches
of the sea
once.

Feet freed from shoes
that were heavy with
all the wetness
they could sponge up
I let my toes sink in
rubbing sand between them
barely moving or breathing.
I felt the push and pull
of the primordial tides

One step in,
the water covered my shins.
Another two steps
equaled twelve more inches.
Three more steps
and I was waist high
ready to let go and dive.
Five more, then up to six
and I could feel
the strength of it.

Till, it was in my nose.
Eyes closed
I felt the undertow
pulling me in deep
as if it longed to keep
the body of me.

A few more steps,
I braced myself,
but someone else
pulled me back
from the eternal black.
I was not
happy about that.
I knew my kin
waited within
the dark murky depths
where something wild crept,
but I just left.

With their indifference
lack of patience
and hostility
they scream at me,

“Go back to sleep
you black sheep.
We do not care
about the struggles
of all you others.
We do not regard
your pain as true
Or even equal to
our own.

Go back to sleep
and take the scraps.
Unless we decide
to take those back
trimming your thin skin
and adding to our fat.

Go back to sleep black sheep.
You are not allowed to leave.
We get to keep
you trapped in our greed
while we take what you need.
Just stay asleep
working and dying
while we are
high life flying.
Go to sleep…..

Wait wake up.
Another other
is coming for your stuff.
Vote for us.

Good little sheep,
now go back to sleep
to work and die for me.

I can only be an activist in words
because my heart refuses to part
with the beauty of art.
I no longer have the will
to struggle in a field
already full of fallen friends.
I do not think we can mend
the walls that crumble and bend
under the unbridled influence of
greedy and already wealthy men.
I do not think anyone cares to hear
how what I feared is already here
and now I am certain we will find
we can only slow this dangerous decline
other ages we’re able to cycle from
dark to enlightenment then back in
and around again.
However, with the damage to our environment
I am afraid this dark age will be permanent.
My brothers have turned my will to fight
into an ill-suited straight jacket
that I rage against but still put on each night.
What I am saying is we are not alright.
We are men, women, and children
already marked for death
because we condemned ourselves
to outdated projections
and ancient prophecies,
instead of studying what it means to be human.
I wonder if you realized you can’t beat the patriarchy
or topple the autocratic institutions
when they are built on the foundation of
the church you go to and the god who owns you
and even though this is supposed to
be a poem that wrote to tell you the truth
I know you won’t listen or believe me.
Thus, I leave thee to thy pointless struggle
so that I can play the fiddle in the middle of
this world that I love
the one you keep on ******* up.

My sadness is worth more than me
Inspiration
Insight
Inception
Implanting the seeds
Of creativity
And compassion
Impregnating me
With empathy
Giving me all that
So I can share it with thee

I am stalled.
Fatigue
enfeebles me,
and I believe
I will lose
the ability
to perceive
and achieve
the full potential
of my inspiration.
  
There is a slight pain
from eyestrain.
Thus, I complain
in such a mundane way
about how my eyeballs
sound like sponges
when I rub them.

The winter is not normal.
A spectral fog fills the horizon
making all dreams of
what lies beyond
seem exotic.
Meanwhile
skeletal trees,
whose leaves
have been reaped
with time’s sharp sickle,
sleep silently
unyielding
to any breezes
just a part of
the season’s
sick cycle
of birth and decay,

My eyes still strain
in a light pain,
but at least the fatigue
did not prevent me
from writing again.

More often than not
I am the bird that
the walls of the aviary forgot,
left behind to rot
as I swallow the nectar of
a handful of broken flowers.

I am but the gentlest of men
that weeps for that
which is beyond my control
that which harrows my soul
running it over and ripping it
to tragic and tiny bits.

You would be hard press
to find others who express
such gentleness
and shortly you will see
the last of it in me
as I either writhe in new found rage
or wither and fade away in tearful pain.

In deeply disturbing dreams,
Heavy metals thunder
striking lightning quality
violence,
inciting tension,
inducing exhausting levels
of stress.
Till, fatigue and anxiety
snaps a fragile mind.

Thud, thud, thud,

“God, please no more.”

Thud, thud, thud,

“Make it stop, I just need
thirty minutes of sleep.”

Thud.

A single trigger sounds.
The breath of brothers in arms
stops.

A softer bounce, rattle, and throp.
as one tired body finally drops
of its own accord.

Thud, thud, thud.

Other adult children move forward,
while the self-inflicted sorrow
stains the hollow fox hole.

Thud, thud, thud.

They are a flock that sought to
flap their beaks and laugh about you
to rush the sun and moon to outshine you,

But it is your heart my mind climbs to
the summit of your art I aspire to
to understand and devour you
jealously guarding what is inside of you
as the grandest treasured truths they are.

So, I confide in you, or at least your words
loving each syllable and swollen verse
with the eloquence of the poetry you displayed
sweet as the sugary snack cakes
that will certainly take me away someday.

However, you have already faded that way,
bloated purloined purse that was once
filled with jewels, gold, silver, and copper coins,
now you are the plaything of many mausoleums
a thousand empty stone rooms
that claim the sweet perfume
of your decaying essence.

Still in my mind you are the omnipresence of
my first and last love.

Flicked by one frantic finger
The sting still lingers
The tiny fleck of a red mark
Left its’ spark bruised his heart
How easily a child is hurt
And yet only seconds after tears had fell
He was back outside merrily playing with himself
But not actually playing with himself ;)

Heavenly gates of pearly pleasure
Bountiful resources
Plenty of love
A perfect place
No more pain
A pleasant fantasy
But it’s a child’s game

It is a passing love affair
The black thorny rose
Thin stemmed
Bleeding nightmare
Beauty bathed in darkness
Like a black cat
Sleek feline queen of Sheba
Narcissus and Nefertiti
Persephone
Eyes open no final reflection in death
Just peace from life’s pain
Not a mistress I would pursue for a kiss
But one that one day I might not resist

There are many things
I long to live and see.
Till, death makes
a dark caricature of me

let love slip in
behind the onyx eyes
pass the lips of love
too young to bloom
as I fall so fast
and leave this room
far too soon
before I felt
her loving boon.

For she is but fifteen
reading me
posthumously,
longing
like I did
when I was her age
for an artist
of older days.

Let fame come to
pay deeper dues
for the time I spent
was creatively used.

Let those amused
be elevated to
and if my death
is all that stands
between
the longevity
of my poetry,
then send me to
an early grave.

My fingers are red
but I can see
the music thumping
as I cut my beets;
Blender burnt out
from the healthy mix
while I dance to
the beat of it.

I have read a thousand poems,
perfect pastel paintings
of parting affections
or partners reunited.
The ****** being excited.
The mind stimulated.
The soul subjected
to the withdraw symptoms
of a broken-hearted victim
to someone’s cheating whim.

I have seen beauty broken,
flesh cut open,
skin pulled back
like a burlap sack
that holds her heart
a burden of
daring to love
then loving too much.

Identity shredded
by the one who bedded
then left sheets red wetted.

I have read the thin inscriptions
stone written in the arms
of grey angel statues,
and ****** Mary’s sacrifice
how she gave love and life
to be despised
because of what lies
between her thighs.

I have heard the moans
followed by a flood
of suicidal tears.
Each droplet eroding
the confidence
the lover once built.
Till, she wilts.

I have loved
all those broken hearts,
pushed poetry,
past their whispering rain of pain
breaking sorrow’s barrier
to help them clean the stain.

Till, the addiction claims them again
and they fade away
like a snowflake
on the cusp of spring
no longer able to fly or sing
because they melted their wax wings.

My beloveds floats away
on a crimson stream
and I cry in the wake
of losing such beautiful
human beings.

Make it quick.
You are already
killing me slowly
dragging me
through the snowy
thorn covered field,
making my flesh bruise
changing it from pink
to blackish blues
as you spread the abuse.

Just make it fast.
slip the blade past
my ribs and up into
the heart you broke
as you choked
the land I loved
as you grabbed
children by the throat,
while you demonized them
with shaded lies.

Your corruption is poison
and I am tired
of writing the same poem,
so just **** me now.

Been wearing it for a while, the thickest jacket I own,
So **** tight it’s pathetic but it still fits.
Thirty one years and even though it’s snug on my shoulder,
Even though it cuts deep into my armpit,
Till my flesh shifts and distorts, it’s still mine.
Brown leather jacket permeated in ****.
All the baggage, all that angst just won’t quit.
Sometimes, I take it off. Sometimes I let it rest;
Let that leathered nightmare take a break,
From tearing at my tense and tired chest.
Sometime, I shove it in the back of the closet,
But it always returns, whispering in my ear
You missed this failed at that. What were you thinking?
Should have been there? Why weren’t here?
Man I wish I’d been drinking.
**** that jacket; Worse for the ware and tare of life.
Even when I throw it away the stupid coat keeps coming back.
One day I am going to die in that ***** ol’ thing.

So many rules and I broke them all
Like never let them touch me
Never let them in
Never let them in again
A rule I broke over and over

Such a brutal braggart once brandished blade
cutting core through knave and slave
in power mongering machinations
through acts of war and devastation.

I am a piece of paper,
a digital display
ready to be filled
then someday
made blank
but please do not
throw me away.

Time may be linear
Space may be infinite
Even though we think the limits curve
Universes growing within themselves
Swirling around each other
Space is not an ocean of stars
The oceans are space reflected
In darkness looking down we can see up
But looking up we only see up
Tiny jewels in the infinite
Sending light
In light’s own years
DNA makes mistakes
Splits and combines
Creates new forms
Slight variations
Copying errors
That got us here
Evolution is not directed
Not inspected by the locals
Patterns may be
May form and disappear
But not everything has to have a reason

It is a poet’s job to feel what we never felt,
to be where we never were,
and see what we never saw

If thy blade bade thee stab
to cut thy core
and place thy body
on the cold stone slab
I would weep for thee.

Because you reap a sea
of drowning grief
with the blood of
the kinsmen we loved
painted upon thy crest.

Now the dagger becomes
the cold black gun
smoking from
the empty sun.

Generations pass,
yet we did not grow,
so now you know
I have to ask.

Why do you my brother
still feel the will to ****?
While all that violence turns
my face to tears
you turn your head
to face the coming years
never looking back
at the black ****** mass
of corpses that your
numb heart planted
in death’s blood soaked field.

Life feels like a hammer clanging against a broken anvil
A token of what you were choking down
A broken clown killing yourself ironically
Suicidally marking dimes stretching metal to make nothing
And nothing begets nothing
Rock forgets scissor and paper cuts flesh
Words wielded like stone swords
Smashing and slashing with equal effect
I suspect I am the fool chasing today while I am wasting away
From social decay pleasures so sweet they rot my teeth
But this is just a stream of stinking slick sewage
And instead of swimming in the ****
I think I am drowning in it

I am tired but not so tired
That I can’t get inspired
By A stranger’s smile
Wrinkles in the skin
Formed around the mouth
Dimples in the chin
Slightly obscured by
Two week worth of growth
Beautiful
Hazel eyes
No scent that I can catch
Slightly receding hairline
I wonder if the ****** fluff
Slides down to his chest
I smile back
And it’s mirrored
By a man I hardly know
I turn away to check for lint
And his lent matches mine
I guess it has been sometime
Since I stared into his eyes
I shave the fur from his face
And my friend is restored
Here is the man I knew

We do not let go
so, their grip
remains,
but slowly the vice
untightens
and their lives
are untethered.
We come in together
but leave each other.
Till, the memories
lose their distinctness
and bit by bit.
We blink and miss
each experience
that softens and dissipates.
Until, we withering flowers
fall the same way.