The Stars, The Flowers

Considering the unthinkable
that life would be better
not living anymore,

There are those
who comfort themselves
with the thought that in death
would come life,
instead of being here with me
you would be the brightest star, shining
in my nighttime skies,

that I would be comforted
by millions of the brightest memories
lighting up my mind skies
in the darkness of the night,
would unfortunately not compare
with my daytime thoughts
of you,

I would be amiss
not telling you
how I would dearly miss
the collection of flowers
blooming along my meadow streets
their warmth and their softness
giving color to my otherwise drab

while the sun is shining
and the birds singing
how pleasant the sight
of renewal of life
of the many variations
of form, of intricacy

The colors that warm my days
still shine inside on my colder nights
while I am inside looking up
at the colder stars
the memory of you

The stars shining bright
are allowed to do so,
while I am considering
the brightness that you give
to every waking minute,
to sunshine days, and rainy interludes

The flowers don’t seem to care
if a drop, or three
of rain happen to bend them
knowing that they will still exist
still imparting color to the lives of others
bringing joy with their pastel innocence

My cut flowers don’t last as long
as the ones existing
living, growing,

While looking up
to the starry night darkness
that others would consider
a fitting memory of you

I’d still be here
lying about
on my mind’s meadow streets
sharing a flower
or, brushing a raindrop of sadness
from your cheek,

I’d still be here
thinking of you…