after i die,
i like to think
that someone will plant
a tree over my body.
couples will carve their
"everlasting" love
onto it
and smile for a while
until their hearts
are taken anew.
little kids will climb
up, up, up
my tree,
begging their parents
to let them go
just a little bit higher.
the occasional bookworm,
poet, author,
will find their way
to my little oasis of peace
and paint pretty tales
as I once did.
my tree will be there
waiting for someone,
anyone,
who needs it.
here i am,
foolishly trying to describe
the feeling of sitting up
high in an oak
and writing poetry.
here i am,
watching the sunset
above long green grass
and typing into an ugly
love, you say,
is as tenderly golden as
buttercups in may,
as apollo's flaxen hair.
and you wish for a lover.
fated together
as achilles was with
on any other day,
i would say my favorite song
is (nope)
it reminds me of
who i am, or rather,
i guess, who i hide behind.
today is different.
today i finished
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