love when sought for will never be found,
because when you look amongst the withering trees,
you will most definitely find,
not the broken heart nor the manic mind,
but dandelions carrying the faintest of messages
that you shall choose to ignore.
these lies will keep you alive
for a night or maybe two
until the seeds disperse along the settled soil
that will soon be the grave of your burden.
you'll watch lovers trample the earth around your eventual sepulcher,
glowing with bliss and smiles dancing upon their lips,
skipping across with intricate rhythm,
as if composing their own ballads of affection.
you'll look over your shoulder
but whatever will you do,
when it is time for your grave to be dug?
for your hatred dines within your eyes
and your demons feast upon the happiness
that comes from your heart
you reread paper napkins of ink and promises,
tearing at the grass in contempt
and the dandelions that have already grown above your home,
and you muffle them by blowing,
blowing away their seeds of truth
for silencing is what you have always known
but you both know,
that you will never be destined for love.
Editors: Blenda Y., Uzayer M.
Photo Credits: La Douleur (Sorrow) (1868-1869) by Paul Cézanne