my hands believed in you
satisfied by little to none
I could have gave them to anyone
little white pedals laying stagnant on each fingertip
revelations of the flowers you helped blossom in my impotent heart
how can I explain something provoking veins inside the blood of my emotions
when I didnt even know blood flowed through anything but my physical body
a cemetary of memories lie abyss somewhere inside of me
like the joyfull living praised when there but never appreciated enough

until souls bid farewell


the hour of separtion came to me as something that was dream like
something that couldnt be real

a few days pass almost placidly flowing over my being
and then it comes
expected lament,

this piece of land inside me is not vast
containing many souls some meaningless and some worthy
rather it is appressed and compact with little space
for the memories at rest
intertwined helping me remember together
in yearning harmony
the grass is so green over every grave
the sun never sets
but the flowers have disappeared
yes
the flowers they are
dead