Long ago in the land of the happy and unlonely there came a wandering band of men called strangers bringing sorrow and welcomed in because misery loves company as we all now know.
I picked a flower in May just to watch her blossom all for myself Beautiful and brilliant I sat her in a glass on a shelf I added water so she wouldn't go dry Magnificence such as hers I couldn't let die I watched as she grew Time flew and flew Her petals orange and blue like a vanilla sky As she prospered and danced I noticed a change Something very strange that caught my eye Her stems became vines intertwined simultaneously with my poetry and life In place of green, She overflowed out of the glass in white sheets of paper And it was there she made her illustration so divine A perfect drawing of a heart That turned out to be mine
A man waiting on someone to die drinks another cup, sighs and looks at his watch, the face everyone rememembers for its twitch and drooping eye, always running, always losing a second, an hour, sometimes a day, a year on the wrist of the dead.