He sang along to the trumpets in his head,
as the radio once did.
"I'll always be there for you,"
He stuttered past his heart.
The coldness locking his beath
in a frozen cloud of smoke
intertwining in the frosted skies,
"Then you told me no,"
His hands quivered in his sleeves where scars left no marks,
while his voice was breaking like broken bones.
He never finishes his dying lyrics,
with the notes dangling in the air,
for someone else to pair.
And an iris left at the stairs.

Always will the sun
shine upon closed eyes until
we all learn to bloom.

in a sea of roses
so brilliant and bright
i'd give you a bouquet
with their petals in  color
from red
to white
to yellow
to blue
and watch the casting shades
beam in your eyes
worth more than an iris
with love deep as a lily
and whenever i'm with you
i see a field of dandelions
because you are worth so much more
then a garden of roses

Those floating candles.
Passing by
along those steady streams.

A burning incense.
Dripping wax  
upon those vanilla sticks.

Puddles now at their lids.
Dried to a still,
past burns are seen.

its harder to speak than to yell.
and harder to yell than to.....think.
but.
as the slumber passes, and the daisies awake.
i feel as if i could talk to you.
just talk.
it might not be a real conversation.
because i might jut blink. and the time i felt i could talk.
would have dashed away from me.

in the night, the stars form into flowers.
others see constellations, or space stations.
but i am unique. i see picturesque flowers bathing in the night glow.
iris. rose. both in bloom. blossoming from the roots of the starry night.
it is really easy to know.
just harder to
speak.