This is a poem I wrote last year. I'm thinking
about revising it or writing a second part soon.

Lingering on, February
So many memories to visit.
Strange. So distant yet
So near.

Three daisies behind Glass.
Colour of snow. White cinders
Of anguish's Fire. But yellow,
Too, like the Sun.

Hot Sun, bright star. Source
Of warmth yet flares writhing.
More alive than metal moon.
Giving away it's spare light.

But hard metals turn to daisies
in a shoe box. What about hard
Times? Is there a box for them?
Place where it doesn't hurt.

Walking, talking, laughing,
crying. Food, paper, excavating
rants and rambles. Eyes locked.
Together, even when afraid.

But what about in February?

Ides after Ides. Never the same.
Stepping forward, stepping back.
Dance of life. But you never liked

Guilt, pain, going insane.
Without you. Acceptance,
detachment? How? Pain, is
a parasite, kills the flower.

Month after month
This the shortest.
Who knew? Not a dance
but a ride.

Never on a ride together
except the one that matters.
So suffering matters too,
after all. Reblossom.

Changing, growing, sinking.
Daisies dying. But bloom
will come again. Nature
is constant - like love.

Even in February.


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