The flowers now bloom, even
on the graves. The severity of
the winter has passed.
Everything has blossomed again.
The birds sing, even in darkness,
because they can,
even on nights when
we cannot sleep.

A love of mine now destroyed,
even amid the beauty
of where we are, and
how we live, there is a sadness.
The birds sing, even as
the stars cry, everything seems right.
A summer’s night
and the flowers bloom.

Life is played, through the days. When
talking of the past, how far
do you want to go? Every detail,
every place, or struggle.
Things you one time wanted
to know. I think you should go.
The flowers still bloom. How often
do you think of that day?

How relevant is whatever it is,
to what is you? Now and
present. Just as we are comprised
of flesh and bone, and psyche,
the flowers still bloom. We water them
because everything has life,
but how do we care
for ourselves?

The birds sing, early, to remind of
another day. Our life, from the ground
up, is built on meaning,
moments, and relationships with
people and places. See what
is beautiful, remember what
is beautiful.
The flowers bloom.

©2013 j.g. lewis