The wretched heat of the sun,
Turns everything brown in its’ wake.
Draining the brilliant green leaves,
From a vibrancy of life,
To something lost.
Was it the heat of the day that cures,
These foliage as they cook
In the middays sun?
Every scent of summer
Speaks of how quickly it will pass.
Not yet the flowers scream,
we’re still blooming.
Our scent is not for you
It brings the bees to our side.
To make sure our offspring emerge,
To decorate next years fields.
The days are losing light,
By the minute by the hour.
Our petals will drop,
We will expire not yet,
We cry in the blistering heat.
When Autumn does blow its’ chilling wind,
We know that the time is near.
To let go of what was once our beauty.
Reflecting on the seasons joy,
The bees that came to leave,
for the next blossoming trillium.
The moments spent being tickled,
The feet seeking nectar in our center.
Leaving scant traces of another,
As a reminder that to grow and flourish,
The mingling of experiences is not singular
Or confined to One.
Treasures and blessings come from many,
Gathered on the foot of those splendid moments,
Scarcely sprinkled in the midst,
Of days too short with darkening skies.
Of course it broke today.
Spinning it’s blades,
The last time.
My biggest fan.
Not there to wave me on,
Cool me down,
When things are burning
From the inside.
Every year its the same thing,
spinning a wind tunnel to suck me under
A museum of music,
shredding the oxygen to toss
tiny particles fill the room.
Yes I will go,
To bring it on the only answer
Dictates to logic.
To the stupid.
Funny squeak it was moaning,
Let it twist in your head
Keep it going let the ignorant
Begin to celebrate phantom win.
It’s been a lifetime career.
Really have no fear.
Just not right.
Assumptions devour what’s real.
That”s how it works on the ones
Sacrificed not me
Never chose against the mind
Actions reflect the smart
decisions confuse opposition.
Portraying not read as a portrait.
Pleasing as a fluke.
I don’t really care who is on their side
passing imperfect product
as a farce these people have promise.
Since when do these have more than the others?
All of them that were let to slide
into the machinery ,
the wood chipper.
What made them less worthy of the help?
Oh SOLUTIONS I see
addiction counselors on vacation leave
They have not been any help
their story transparent as a raindrop.
Nothing assumed through their deliberations
Makes an ounce of sense nor will she
Comply bunk street drugs
To ease the weaning.
Back to sobriety why.
There must be some gain
Some payment agreed upon
Some vast prize for participation.
As for her just let her die.
This is why the others were denied.
They opened the entire book for her to see.
Outlined the characters.
Two and three.
It doesn’t matter.
She has no plan to give in.
She has no one to care about.
Your game will be in ruins.
As for prizes,
It’s pretty clear,
When everyone wins,
No one wins.
That’s why she’s going nowhere.