Spring Haiku

I dream of him less than I used to - 

But our story always starts the same.

I am small, and his oil stained hands hold me like the Red Clover;

So tightly that I think he’ll never let me go.

It is 4 in the morning and I am alone.

I sit my sadness on the willow tree.

And the Earth is covered in a thousand shards of heaven;

Like a kaleidoscope, rainbows fall through the trees.

Beautiful wasteland;

Rainbows refracting onto

Stairs of heavens gate.