The hearts will carry on, and the flowers will continue to grow. — Daisies, lining up the gown: here to welcome all the frowns. Strings will sting the parting hearts— and numb the wailing of the nightingales. The flowers’ sacrifice—too nice for the swords of greed and spite. …

I am waiting to see the sunlight. — Touch and it will disappear, there’s no sense against my skin but a feeling underneath—shivers from the cold that leaves me in vain. Drifting away at its own pace—taking its time because there’s no rush in life, only those made up by the overthinkers: transform and morph, the new contours of shapes left up to our imagination. Summer days lead to heavier storms—those that come will go, and I will see the sunlight once more before the clouds return again.

The daydreamer who seeks a little too much of that sugar rush. — ring around and sing aloud the songs of sweet harmony—melodies live like stars, always burning—bright and blistering. the angels come along and bring me to safety—soft and sweet pillows of cotton bliss soak up my spirit, until I begin to fall with the cooling rains. love never tasted sweet, like summer tea— but bitterness is a nice complement to the highs of lust and greed, a reminder for the daydreamer who seeks a little too much of that sugar rush.

One by one—taken away to a distant land. — Lie low and stay silent—don’t walk out the doors; say no more. They hear your shuffles through the winds that blow from the north and down south then back up again, until they catch a whiff of that disease from your breath. There’s no room for death: just time to sit and stare, glare and catch those…

I saw him from my window, listening to the music from my piano. — My music caught the pigeon’s eye. From one note—a strike— the birds appear along the bend, and only one has stayed for me. I saw him gently rest upon the ledge outside my window. I turned away, from the piano, to look for company. He felt my gaze—a pause— and fluttered off before my hand—the trembles— could reach to the next key. My piano plays for the pigeon’s song— though I’ll wait for long, still, now steady.

When my calculations do not yield fruition. — These vials run for miles down the lane of memories. With each, an experimentation: accidental collisions of molecular stories—against all wonders and the walls. Energy never dissipates— it only passes on. The heat is in the air: who knew how much we’d care for this random meeting—spontaneous, at best. The irreversible mistakes now clamoring at the wake.

It has been a long awaited day—and now I get to roam the streets again. — Timeless, in paralysis— one more second passes through these walls. The streets still calling for my presence here, my absence— now a haunting haul: Of all the love that used to roam these roads, all barren—beaten and alone. Welcome to a new day—how the cars are honking in the morning— tandem sounds, now…

Only drift into a dream once the sun begins to rise. — There’s no room for sleep — the silence of the night is not so still to swallow my sight. The eyes only bear the strength to quiver— in the dark, with all that is now left — ajar. Don’t look too far: only catch a glimpse of light before it cushions the wearied fright with a gentle hush, now — Lay down— and make some room—for a dream. ©2022 A.X. Bates

I made the choice to pick it up and watch it melt away. — Melt away in my bare hands. The heat is too much for your plea. And in one second—for once— I’m cool—not too cold for the untold warmth that nourishes my body. Ache succeeds relief— shivers through my skin, until the grief stabs me from within. Drips turn to a puddle, and now—grateful—I muddle through the tearful mess I made. ©2022 A.X. Bates