Less Than A Memory

Every passing day brings

A shade of comfort. White snow

Death fades away the saddest hearts

.

A bouquet of roses waits. Life revolves around all of us.

Children run. A baby’s

Lungs. I don’t like when people die

With their eyes

Open

.

Men in suits. Friends drinking

Vodka. Trees.

A mother’s womb carrying her unborn child — and then

The sight

Of the first snowflake

Falling from the highest

Sky

.

Misconstrue who you think I am

As I become less than a memory

.

Why argue so much? Why fight?

I just want to stare into beautiful eyes,

Read Éluard,

And write more poetry while I wait

For the snowflakes to come

.

ML

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