where the wild flowers grow
A violent light
of color described as a mixture of two.
We worship, here, even numbers.
We calculate, and ponder,
still not capturing
the very essence of what it is
to be alive.
gifted not the chance to breathe, just once.
To be a mother, to hold
To comb the hair that resembles
what you once had..
Styling the braids just the same.
All that was said,
is that smoking was a hard habit
Like mending a heart that
you can no longer love.
a violet button to a
zig-zag seamed red blouse, that
seemed to bleed.
Careless eyes I once carressed and
never looked into the same again.
The blue faded quite
lightly as a bond between
the insane way we loved..beaten
by violet rays of