Painting your most delicate waves,
The back of an ocean of many graves.
Live through your tears,
And rest to peace in your blood.
We dry and wither without thought these days.
The yard is full of falling leaves,
A rake rests atop a decaying layer.
The scent of drying foliage always unearths memories
That had once faded away the worst to remember.
It is raining wherever my eyes hold still.
The horizons glow in a fruitless grey.
Money’s a crook and bills can kill.
But, where you look it is always sunny.
Where the dust clings to your skin,
They brighten the life of limp decisions,
And cordially denounce their delight.
Because love can be like a kindergarten game
Where every dizzy soul chases it like a butterfly.