Sunday, May 29, 2011

Friends Become Flowers

There aren't enough syllables, or letters, but guess.
You may or may not have a second chance.
So go on, don't be shy, instead be inspired
and if you fail, we've all been there
before. And after.


I'm in the archives, I'm on a list,
I'm in a field. I coexist.
I had so much, so very much;
I lost it all at the very first touch.
I'm in a tomb, I'm on the wall,
I'm waiting still for the curtain call.
I'm in the chair, yet it's cold,
I'm the one turned into cash and sold.
I am the flower that withers away,
I die slowly in the bouquet.
I walked these halls, I might have laughed,
I might have caused that one slight draft.
I still remember--I always will,
I even remember when my life went downhill.
I remember the words my friends once said;
I know how they felt when they learned I was dead.
I saw when they cried the day that I died,
I caught every tear--at least, I tried.
I heard that rain fill the day,
I never knew it would be that way.
I am the one that they say they miss--
I swear, my mind can't get over this.
I'm still here sometimes, walking by,
I'll never leave--I think you know why.
I remain the one that left too soon
on that early September afternoon.
I never realized how much more
I could have had on this earthly shore,
and I hope you remember, and forgive,
because I wish I could remember how to live.