Chips of paint flake off your immortal face,
Stained by so many years of rain and snow.
And still your eyes look so alive,
Your flesh never felt so cold.
Brown leaves crunch under foot
As I walk through the lifeless rows,
Listening to the willows weeping;
Watching you reap the lies you've sown.

Why do you watch me still?
Even now I can feel your eyes
Between the leafless bushes
Wishing for one more tomorrow.

Questions begin to pour as my arms
Brush against the dry, dead, decaying
Branches breaking under the pressure of
A whisper halfway between lying and praying.
And still the flowers live in full bloom,
So full of life, radiating colors indescribable,
Impossibly held up on frail stems dying,
Protected by thorns growing ever sharper still.

08/04/2004

Posted on 08/04/2004
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