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You were mine,
                           A Wildflower.

Sprout up in the most unlikely of places,
Peaking yellow and green through the copper chipped bricks,
You spread out, wrapped around my hand,
we grew together.

Iridescent - reflecting each other.

Until - your grip loosened,
Once effervescent,
I watched your colour fade -
Now waned, wilted, worn.

I tried to love you back to life -
Though I don't know you anymore.
all colours fade when exposed to direct sunlight
For all things there is a season, a time for everything under the sun.
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather.
But -
Forgive me, if i spend my whole life questioning this -

Why is it my lot in life to work and be happy with it.
Am i nothing but a brick in the wall.
A mist that appears for a drop of time and then vanishes.
Merely a stem - some may bud, the lucky will flower
but all will wither and fade away.

Forgive me, when i say this -
For why should evil stick his face in mine and mock my happiness.
I am selfish, I am ungrateful
How can I enjoy this fellowship with injustice?
Where Love stands, hate reigns.
Where Peace sings, war screams.
Where Happiness dances, sadness breaks its bones.
Where Breath lives, darkness suffocates it.
This is human - self-destruction,
Created in love but born to sin.
We know of nothing else, until we find
You -
Ardent patience, Yearning salvation -

This is human - saved for nothing.
I hate that I’m used to you being gone.
I hate that I don’t see you in every corner of life.
I hate that I only see you in the small things,
When somebody mentions they hate broccoli or loves chips.

(you passed that on to me you know, I think I could rival your love for chips)

When I hear someone recount a childhood story of scouts or -
When I hear bing crosby being played -
When I see an old steam train in a museum or -
When I see an old man playfully stick out his dentures at a child.

I hate that I’m used to you being gone.
I hate that I have to trigger the memories of you.
That I have the remind myself of who you were and what you loved,
That I think of you everyday but I’ve grown used to it.

(I’ll always remember your hands but the placement of the pale skin patches are fading)

I hate that I’m used to you being gone.
I hate that I felt closer to you when you had just left.
I noticed every small detail,
though it brought so - much - pain
little pieces of you still echoed.
a pillow you were the last one to touch,
a mug you had used the day before, a horizontally striped polo that still smelt like silvikrin and extra strong mints.

- but now your echo has gone silent and I have to go searching to find it
and it gets quieter every time.
I open my door - to the brisk December air,
Each breath as Fresh as the mornings First -
Through my Frosted airways -
A Winter Cloud exhaled.
Stop thinking.
The thought of you is poison to my Love.
my real Love.
You are but a thought - a what if lingering on the tip of my tongue,
there is no use wasting thoughts on what if’s.
Nothing good will come of it
Nothing good will come of us - there is no us.

Stop thinking
You are a virus, a fading voice, a fading joke, a fading laugh
that’s all we had.
Nothing more - but not nothing,
unspoken, unheard.
Yet, I saw It in your eyes
and I saw It reflecting in mine.
Stop thinking.
I love to place myself in the mind of a character I’ve watched or read about and write from their perspective.
A lament don Ghaeilge

A language
in my Blood
but not - on my tongue.

The prose and poetry of my ancestors
fallen - on deaf ears.

When did we accept this anglicized assonance,
to marr the seanchaithe tale of soil and air?

The Land of Saints and Scholars -
speaking words from others tongues.
I never fully understood the meaning of the  word “mourn” until this year -
To truly feel the loss of another concentrated in its purest form.

I never believed when others would say
“I miss you more, in  each and every day” or
“There’s not an hour goes by, without a thought of you on my mind”
As if Loss is an unforgotten constant in the trails of the trivial,
We are only human after all.

But I was naive, through and through.
Loss never leaves your side once you meet
Loss is a friend for life.
The kind that shows their face in the most unpredictable moments,
Who never fades away or falls out,
Becoming more aquatinted as we go through life.

Loss is selfish, wanting our undivided attention,
Expecting us to indulge in its deep dark thoughts with strong pretension.

Loss is harsh, not hiding nor sugarcoating any enemy attack,
Facing us with the reality of control and just how much we lack.

Loss is bitter, Loss is unkind
Loss is a thief, stealing our piece of mind.

Loss is jealous, Loss is sly.
Is it absent of Love,
Or has Love left it’s side?
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