The tranquil petals of a crimson tulip
met the violent embrace of a ferocious wind.

The wind moved on
as the petals lay in a crimson pool.

Neither the wind nor the flower was to blame.

Beauty died quietly that day.
Not a word uttered. Nothing to say.

I have not stood where they have.
I have not struggled as they have.
But I am not ignorant, nor am I blind.
Change must happen,
And I will not stand idly by.

i stroke the dirt above you
and hug your stone
never minding the soil that stains my jeans
a tear rolls down my cheek
as i trace my index over your
engraved name
and the wind whistles for
us both