Though the sun bleeds out
we must always remember
it will rise again.

I’m kind to others
because when I’m kind to them
I’m kind to myself.

Small purple flowers
who I noticed (but too late),
I am so sorry.

Chilled by the stone,
right to the bone
by the curse of the kings
and the pain that it brings
for those upon the throne.

I measure your age
by the divets of dry tears
left on your wet face.

The springtime rainstorm
suddenly blankets the world
with a white curtain.