the wind keeps blowing the flowers from the trees
but i've got a home for each one of them
if they could only find me here
but their tranquility escapes with
the last rays of sunshine each day;
the darkness ushers in a new kind
of distress, one of bitter cold
and slow regrets.

my heart requires a place
to hold the flowers of all
imagination,
and then when i've collected
them all, i will burn it down
for warmth; all the beauty
in the world for kindling.

02/16/2007

Posted on 02/16/2007
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