all I ask of you,
don't buy me flowers.
take me to a garden.
for I get sad when they die.
when they are ripped
from their roots
in the ground.
their time for
growing is up.
they can no longer
have conversations
with the sun
or the grass
or the rain
as it kisses them
so softly.

Twirling with the wind
Spiraling upwards through air
A dance of its own because of no cares.
A lifeless being
Yet a being is not
A simple bi-product
Of burning this stuff.

Yet beautiful she is
Yes I call it a she
Because in my mind
She is only a tree.

Not a threat or harm,
Or worthy of the bearing arms,
She loves to be burned
Under the glowing stars.
And as the silhouettes dance in the night
I watch them live a freely life.

Like a cigarette
you sooth my addiction.
the stealthy smooth smoke of you
infiltrates my rib cage
with a subtle burning heat.
But cigarettes don't last long
you will soon burn out