I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.

We are a liars, because
the truth of yesterday becomes a lie tomorrow,
whereas letters are fixed,
and we live by the letter of truth.
The love I feel for my friend, this year,
is different from the love I felt last year.
If it were not so, it would be a lie.
Yet we reiterate love! love! love!
as if it were a coin with a fixed value
instead of a flower that dies, and opens a different bud.

surrounding forlorn sun-cursed flora
pulled by the teary eyed sky;
stars tantalizing them from on high
  with promises of a heavenly aura.

never satisfied with their strata,
always pushing against their time
until the death-bell for them chimes
  and they wither to kernels of data.

encouraging drops sent to their aid
from their lake and river neighbors;
within the dirt, they do their labor
  and at their end, to the dirt they fade.

we are but flowers in a grassy field,
reaching for the suns radiant hand, and
like the flowers strewn in "our" lonely land
   to the omnipotent dirt we shall always yield.