Bury me with my poppy.
My greatest memory; my simple joy.

Spring time brings brightness--
colors other than white.
A flushed landscape from

stamen performing as paint;
replicating a sleepy orange
yellow, green, red

I contemplate picking the poppy
to keep for myself.

Life feels large
like the sparkling lake--
that cold sunny hour when you sat
by a fire bordered by icy rocks.
The earth sheltered in poppies.

We all expect moments without an end.
Post-bloom petals fall flat before falling away.

Miracles can be a curse or a blessing,
brave or cowardly,
Swallowing up certainty.

Poppy tears
slowly release memories--
a crisp deliberate euphoria.

I leave behind the orange flower.
Appreciation is not lost.

I can't stop thinking about you,
your eyes dictated my every move
your face plastered against the moon
trying to forget you,
failing,
you're taking over,
gently gripping my mind,
rebuilding my heart,
clouding my vision,
poisoning my veins,
walking through me.
Your name is burned into my thoughts,
Your voice calls to me,
Forgetting everything
but,

You

Kind, beautiful, simple
words are,
spun from the essence
of the soul,
penetrating deep
into the hearts of many
to nurture the springs
of life within all,
drawing the net
of life taunt with
Love

Age is not a number to be thrown around,
nor does it represent the number of years lived,
It measures the memories made
and the memories
yet to come

My mind was lost long ago
My soul was ripped from my body
My heart fails to beat
I can change it
But,
I do not want to

Like a shadow from its body, I drift
Like a rotting tree, dead
Like a cold winter breeze, unwanted
Clinging on to a lengthening rope
Fading away into the night

Life fails me
Death fails me
I am in between

I am nothing but a mere shell of myself
I am nothing.

I am Apart