Strange, isn't it?

The way we mourn those
Still living...

despite all this rage,
i am still the little girl crying over her scraped knee

some people break your heart just to see you bleed

I wonder if every dandelion I have sent through the wind
whispered how I still long
for a warm embrace.
And so I begged
my friendly, fragile friends
once more.
These  little wisps of white.
Please murmur my wishes
to the breeze.
My song of love,  my dream of peace.