they were never us,
they cannot know the flowers we must have on our graves.
i worry my soul will keep searching
among the heaps of colour for what it needs.
the right flowers were never ours.
'don't stand in your own way', you said, when you left,
and no one but my ghost,
the one that will keep returning to this scene after everything is over
to find what it needs
among heaps of what it doesn't want-
no one but that ghost
searching for the right flowers to move on-
will stand in your way and try to block your path.
but
one day it will learn
that wisps of cold air
aren't strong enough
to hold a warm body back.
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