If dirt be for the poor,

I am an oak,

But I take what I may from the barren soil.

Completely now,
but Never before,
Had I compared this room to a tomb.
and silently I remain,
keeping quiet,
While mind and body waste away.

Grandmother, stroke my hair until I fall asleep
Like the late nights when mother would come home stumbling
Hold me in your lap and let me tell you my childish secrets,
My wishes and hopes and dreams.

Grandmother, teach me to color inside the lines,
With a picture of a woman holding a banner covered in hearts.
And walk with me on a dirt path
That leads to our small home.

Grandmother, open your wondrous blue eyes again,
The eyes that hold my childhood.
And bring me back to those days.
When everything was blissful

My blood flow switched.
Now it's head to heart.
My mind's made up before
the heart can reason.
And palms become dry
and sweat turns cold.
and fear becomes the same as joy.

The cold makes you porcelain.
I pray your porcelain's sustained.
Please stay like this forever.
An infinite image remains
Of Beauty in veins
Shown blue in skin now pallid evermore.
Why can't I join you
In dreams of winter and eternal brumal slumber.
If only I could grant myself,
Frigid serenity and repose.
And come to find you once again
Dancing in November snow