our own little universe

The sun is going off to bed,
The moon will climb the sky instead.

And while the children soundly sleep
Creatures, quickened into life, will creep

Red, with blood from infants, shine
From carnivorous fangs, vileness decried

As older they grow, with intent to deceive
They’ll spread their evil through our sewn seeds.

A foreboding of some distant and destined change
Through hostile progress and big with fate.

The moon, he finally goes to bed,
The sun, she shines on a world that’s dead.

i dreamt i was a flower once.

you came and laid beside me on a warm spring day
the breeze caused me to sway gently in the field.
i called to you and though your ear was right beside my face
you could not understand our secret language -
the language of nature.

i called to you and though you could not understand my words
you looked at me and smiled.

i dreamt i was a flower once.

you came and had lunch nearby on a hot summer’s afternoon
you had a dog and when i called, she came to me instead.
i was afraid that she’d eat me or dig a hole in my home
but she just sniffed me and went away.

i called to you but only she could understand my words.

i dreamt i was a flower once.

you came again to our field and sat beneath the wise old oak
who tells us bedime stories, as each night the westward sun sets a little earlier.
i called to you and you looked over.
i called to you and you stood up.

i called to you and you plucked me
from between the browning blades of grass.

i died that night but i died fulfilled,
my purple imperceptibly fading
as you brought me to your face
and placed me behind your ear.

and finally,
i am something useful.