there
is music to
the trees their leaves
rustling in the dance of the
wind’s fingers, like love after hours
sweet and tender so filled
with joy I wonder why the trees
make their music into a lullaby that
so many choose to ignore? But I, I listen and
it is the sweetest song. The
song of eternity, the melody of
forever. The leaves tremor – shudder
in delight so divine. It is nature, at its essence
so pure and
simple yet
it goes, sadly,
unnoticed.

Time of death:
3:44.
When you told me you don't love me anymore.
Place of death:
The park where we met,
on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
I remember the dreaded words which escaped your lips,
the heat in your words,
the look on your face,
as I took a metaphorical bullet to the chest;
it hurt like Hell.
Cause of death:
You.
When you stabbed me in the heart for the first
and last time.
A fatal blow.
But in the coroner's office,
all the report will ever show is:
time of death:
3:44.
Cause of death:
Trauma to the chest.