Poetry

Unlived death, that was me 
waking in exile from the bones. 
He said I remember your verse 
a split open bloom! 
 
Given away your gems to sea 
ready to become ash, green blood, 
you have killed a white cloud 
now go for a floral burial. 
 
He said I remained unpacked 
like an open wound. 
How far space will hang on the shoulders, 
how far the sky will remain blue? 
 
Snow will not melt I presume 
I will burn my shirt with stain. 
Life will not stop but conceive 
the proud burning pain. 
 
I stand today without complaints 
grieve for my silence, ignorance. 
There was a home I could not save 
miles from water like bright dome.