The Atrium

All the Flowers Wither

Facing the mirror with tears hanging low

The man in the mirror I do not know

The light is dim and the air is cold

The pressure high and my knees forced to fold

Few dozen voices scream out in the distance

But it feels it's been so long without their presence

Casting stones in my direction

A feudal attempt at perfection

A shade of a father passes by ever so often

Every picture on the shelf reminds me of the coffin

All the flowers wither

Memories become nothing more than a whisper

Strangers become lovers

And lovers become separated by oceans of colors

Blue and black of bruises and scars

Bloody red from wounded hearts and dusty memoirs

I have loved once or twice

Each time was a gamble like rolling the dice

And the wind kept blowing and carried me.

In time wounds healed and fear would flee

Confide to God or a crying shoulder

Longing again to just be closer

To remove the armor and shield

And reveal all that was once was concealed

��y5u�|