I did not dwell in you
nor you in me.
Sometimes dressed in yellow
your sunlight always absent
Doubtful summers oh how
you perfected death – my Mother cold.
Did we ever taste your love?
Scuffed expectations –
countenance denied.
I sang myself to sleep, faltering lines
like cotton wool
they drowned my Fathers broken tenor voice.
The air around you stupefied
children innocent – dispersed to hide
we carved our  name with flaws.
Fallen flowers between us – composed
in their decay.
We the young, soon become adults- with nothing
more to say…

Poppy 2013 ~xx~


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