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She's like a field of wildflowers, beautiful, untamed
When the winter comes, I still will love her just the same
Beneath the veil of snow, I know she still remains
Waiting patiently, to be washed clean by spring rains

She's something like the sun, rays of warmth and love are beeming
I'm more like the moon, its hard to shine when I'm not feeding
Off of the light extending out, when it hits I have no doubt
I could live this life alone, but will not live this life without,
My wildflower
His hands are numb from
strangling the demons inside
There's never enough tea*, she said,
a single, cold finger tracing the lip
of an empty mug.
Adequate poem for this cold, November day in Indiana
there was a time before when I could walk
I stepped among strangers on misguided paths
on roads unnamed
remaining cracked and broken
people hid their blank faces
steps incautiously taken
but there was one abnormal stranger
he lifted his eyes above the ground
and smiled at the unfortunate raindrops
then suddenly I was falling
he held vivid color in his eyes
life in his dreams
the world was dark and bleak
yet illuminated by his love
my feet have never touched solid ground since
and they never will
remaining to search for such reason
the reason his love can be shown to only I

— The End —