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Do the flowers mourn when one is picked?
I know that question is kinda morbid and sick.
But I’ve always wondered if they somehow know,
Like for weddings and birthdays that it’s their time to go?

Do they feel sorry for lovestruck dames,
That pull off petals whilst saying their crushes’ names,
That pulled the last petal on “He loves me not”?
Do they feel bad that she’s distraught?

Do they compete on who’s the prettiest?
Each person has an opinion of which flower is the best,
Of their looks are they actually aware,
Do flowers even care?
Revolve around
three-dimensions.
Admire her
while she sounds,
when she spills
sighs from varnished,
abandoned lips.

Two steps
is all it ever takes
to turn intimidation
into presentation.
Letting arms
be her branches,
crossing about
layer after layer
of milk-white flesh.
to be loved today.
It slowly kills me
to try and repay
this debt for eternity.
On shining
With your magic stick
of writing
To create a piece for
the heart you are looking for

Today at night
See the moon
to catch the reflection of love rays coming from her heart land

Moon itself wait for her beauty to brighten up it's face
On
Red lights
Your love filled gaze through
The window of car
Still following me
'I'
Am on the circle
Few are inside the circle
Few are outside the circle
I am running to win the game of circle
But I know however the distance I travel
Displacement is going to be zero in the life of circle
F    Fear the water God says you must walk across
A   Allow your mustard seed to germinate
I     Implore the Lord to take your quaking hand
T   Trusting that your feet won’t sink into the brine
H   His hand is strong in yours, so step out now in faith.
                 ljm
Sunday Acrostic
n


i guess ive always had a thing for fire
standing too close -
letting the smoke suffocate me,
the smell latch onto me.
i know i might burn,
but it’s where i want to be -

ignited by all of this desire inside of me
more gas,
more flames
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