“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.” -Carl Sandberg
A new life lives beyond the wall
not a drop of sun flows by
a new movement which some people call
a newfound way to die
if i shared with you a secret
which will leave your eyes in tears
would you pick for me a flower
with its petals shaped like spears?
And when I call upon your name,
if the sunny sky won’t shine
will you let me live beneath the soil
before you ever question why?
And, when we both grow weary,
and, when we both grow small
life has a funny way of showing
just how easily we fall.
While I may die and you may lie
beneath the weeds we sow,
can we ever really wonder why
those flowers still won’t grow?
For, bearing soil and simple minds,
have easily no doubts
about the love they hold for one
and about the things one shouts.
I wish I could forget it all
my past, which haunts me so
but in my doubt and in my fall,
my weeds continue to grow.