From beneath the Flower Bed

  
My seeds did sprout like lovers often lose,
So the flowers are stained with your melancholy hues,
Roses have leeched to whispering blues,
A lover’s downfall is but a poet’s muse.
 -
I’m watered with a veil of heaven’s sweet tears,
The nourishment is all but our united fears,
Because I felt you quake as I said it nears,
But you only listen to what your heart hears.
 -
I am resigned and reassigned to my place in the dirt,
And to the dust that I manifest from, I will revert,
But like the dust I will rise again, this time unhurt,
For beneath the ground I tend to grow, to change and convert.
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Time ago I’d look into the abyss and it would quake,
So you’d think with all this growing I would know not to break,
But the roots bind me back together, around me they snake,
And stronger than ever I begin to start making the ground ache.
 -
I’m pushing up the daisies, as this loss I did concede,
But from my silenced heart has sprouted a vengeful seed,
So I revel and dishevel till my wounds cease to bleed,
once the blood seals my fate, from my grave I’m freed
 -
I can’t write poems, my hands are encased by my side,
So it is in the dirt that traps my chest I must confide,
But in its quiet, dark desires of growth it does hide,
Because I sink deeper with every second longer that I bide.
 -
I am no longer human, I’m that of which a garden grew,
the garden of my vehemence, here for you to view,
stop and smell the roses with the newly bluish hue,
carelessly and breathlessly, just as I once fell for you.