Flowers

a Chair sitting in a Room
a Red Umbrella standing, Dripping with Rain
a Couple, Plunged in Attentions embrace
and I, I am Laying face down on the Cobble Stoned Broadway

Playing the Paupers song
to a Queen of Hearts
Death fills the Streets
Life is in the Valley Picking Flowers

Embroidered is the Chair
Decorating the rooms Walls, to the tune of Dancing Drips of Rain Drops
Tears in the eyes of the couple
as my cheeks are Rosey, by the warm pulsing from thy heart
Death strings together the flowers
that Life picks

They too, All

There’s an existence, under this existence, under that existence, above your existence, through my existence

splattered in dizziness

chained, imprisoned by helpfulness

shattering, the vase of water

captured and unidentified, placed in pages of torn napkins, used to bandage wounds in the fragile flesh of knowledge

There’s a flower, under this flower, under that flower, above her flower, through his flower

suspended in sunlight

created, inspired by holiness

scattered in the void of nature

composed and intertwined in pages, spines, folded, used to expand words in the fragile flesh of knowledge

Another Morning with Kats

I sit, patiently, silent and relaxed.

Under the warmth of my furry Companion, Well, maybe my furry Ruler. Since I can not move a muscle as long as she is sitting on my lap.

That stern look, that makes a humans soul feel, small in the midst of such a prowess.

My yellow eyed, Black kat has the power of a panther, The Panther she truly wishes to be or has been in another life. long before she let herself become captured and wished to conquer another kingdom.

Every morning, I sit a read, she sits and reclines under the pages, I flip through with vigor for love of each morning. Words drip on my fingers, as my fingers move through her fur.

The mornings speak of many azure tapestries, as the outside sun peaks over the horizon, summoning the dawn and breaking the night.

Slumber falls of my eyes, like scales of the unjust, begging for a new day to rectify their deeds. For Evil or Good, the Gods have spoken, not a word has been ensued, just a verdict, laid before another moral, wishing to find peace after a life fulfilled and found incomplete.

My furry ruler, maybe the key to the afterlife, the guide to Hades or the Elysian Fields. So I shall sit, patiently, silent and relaxed.

Until the morning and she renders it a time to move, embracing the day