tell me, what is the sound of a dying flower in my hands –
as it detaches from the bunch of blossoms and leaves?
the postman missed the message for me, that says,
“I’m heaven sent,”as I pictured myself a better man by
now - the mind draws, whatever aroma of heaven it dreams
of, and carries that detached scent

tell me there, Mr postman – did you grow a rose in your
pocket where I grew a small tree in my heart’s garden,
where falling leaves can be heard. if I could use words filled
with fire, I’d be a bonfire of poems burning at my creative
compost. post me on the wall of your memories, as a painting
of those falling leaves

as a darling would tell me I’m too worried about being
a leafless branch – hey there Mr postman, I finally have
the answer

the sound of crushed water from life, is just the sound
of its final tears – and I’ve heard the tears of that flower,
but it was really me crying about my own self - still being
more fragile.

It’s a subtle shift, yet it holds great power,
Turning a seed of thought into a blooming flower.
Change the lens through which you view,
And watch life take on a hue anew.

Denuded;

denuded was my soul,

with all that there was to it.

Everything that I touch;

withers without falter—

every time I water these

withered flowers.

Sending me tender kisses like airbags, softening the blows to my
heart; your service with a smile radiates warmth as I stand in line,
eager to sketch the portrait of our love— chasing after sparks, once
your heart starts to believe you’ve found the one.

Making daylight savings – to awaken with the sun, its golden rays
dance upon your cheek, radiating warmth that yearns to envelop me.
Yet, I ponder— will a touch more of this brilliance consume me, or
shall I remain alert– do I stay woke,

or…

spend most of the day in a daydream, cherishing this infatuation,
cradling it close to my heart, preserving our moments for a future
where courage blooms within me, allowing me to finally ask you to
be my wife.

“Perhaps yes, or maybe not” – I’ve pluck the petals of my choices,
now lingering on the tenth flower.

                                             I think I'm in love with you Daisy.

A puddle formed,
A deep scarlet red morphed,
Beneath me it lay;
Matched the red of my cheeks,
The red of my shoes,
The red of my nails,
There it lay,
The dark engulfing red of the rose,
Such a gorgeous sight,
Such a strong might,
Covered in the pale white snow,
But what is that?
Dripping from my palm?
Is it the same red?
The colour of wine?
It can’t be
It was so free,
Such beauty cannot be so harmful;
It was the thorn of the rose that cut me so deep.

You with your Rosmarin laugh
and Sunflower eyes
with your Dandalin smile
and angellike mind
The garden within you
it blooms with your growth
It smells like the wets
of a fresh summer rain
Where the Clouds they pass by
Soft winds in your hair
You outshine it all, the sun in your soul

Prettiest boy,
reincarnated sun
You shine to bright
To keep eyes on you for long
You burned in my mind
I see you asleep
My indsides defind
everytime you breath

You're warm to each touch
Your mind is beyond
The reach of my love
Your garden it blooms
It grows with each tear
A lover has lost
On your lonely love

Prettiest boy
No sundown compares
No sunrise alights
When you're by my side
My beeing it arches
To get youre attention
But ever song listend to often
Gets gladly forgotten

So when youre leaves start falling
When your clouds get gray
When your wind is harsh
Remember me every day
The music once was alive
But there'll be new songs in your live
February it's still not time
For new flowers to bloom
For tulpits and roses
For lilies and iris
For me to forget you

You made my trees so alive
Your made my garden green
And my apples red
My oranges soft
And my insids burn
'Caus fruit and flowers are gardens the same
But one cannot go on
In the cold winters embrace