(a poem I wrote at two in the morning)
Sitting in the center of the middle of the night
I pray that I will live to see
the mornings first light
And when the first star glimmers and dies
I will
shield my eyes
Living in the darkness through the middle of the day
Sending all who come to me a happy go away
Not caring what they thought or if they didn't at all
It cushions my fall
Singing the crescendos of the music it becomes
Fingering the edges of crystal chrysanthemums
Watching as they break off and they mingle to apply
A stained glass butterfly
Watching as the time goes by, oblivious without me
It doesn't even matter, if no one cared about me
And suddenly the sixth of June doesn't seem so far away
As yesterday
Bluberri