Wheat fields and red hair,
Swirling forms and
Defiant impressions of
Iris blossoms and
Almost-rotten sunflowers
That fell limp across
Table tops that housed
Tools – abused and nurtured,
That created pictures of dreams,
Imprinted on the crevices
Of a terrifyingly misshapen mind
That was filled with hues
And visions of impossibilities,
That made the world look
Like the paradise it never could be.

Snow-covered
Memories
Of wooden homes
And thistle bushes,
And flowers the colour of
Almost spring, and
Frost-covered
Eyelashes,
Releasing crystals
With every blink;
Descending tufts
Of white littleness
Thawing
Against skin