Forget-me-nots surround me,
While stinging Nettles,
The cursed Nightshade,
Beg me to sleep.
All I hold are Forget-me-nots,
Nothing else.
Only thoughts and silent prayers are left to give.
Along with fragile dreams,
A world within my mind.
Broken glass,
Lies all over,
Tangled in red string,
That holds up glass stars.
The books…
The flowers…
A single candle flame…
Are they even real?
Scattered paper,
Fragments of a record,
Stained with tears and pencil led.
The only clues to thoughts, to memories,
I was so close to losing.
Forget-me-nots surround me,
While stinging Nettles,
The cursed Nightshade,
Beg me to sleep.
The glass shards,
Appear cold and sharp like knifes of ice.
The candle with a single flame,
Feels so warm, so hot.
All I hold are Forget-me-nots,
A single candle,
With hands tied by red string,
Nothing else, no one else.
Only thoughts and silent prayers are left to give.
Along with fragile dreams,
A world within my mind.
A dream, a dream,
An escape, an escape,
My freedom, my cage,
My own little world.
Broken glass,
Lies all over,
Tangled in red string,
That holds up glass stars,
My glass star heart.
The books…
The flowers…
The starlit sky…
A single candle flame…
A silent prayer…
Are they even real?
Scattered paper,
Fragments of a record,
Blooming Forget-me-nots,
Stained with tears and pencil led.
The only clues to thoughts, to memories,
Far away emotions,
I was close to losing.
I’m forgetting,
I’m remembering.
I’m losing,
I’m gaining-
The last sparks of light,
Of gentle fragile light,
That burns like starlight.
Its bittersweet,
Its lonely,
In this place,
Only silence,
As I weave together the pieces,
The fragments of-
All I hold are Forget-me-nots,
A single candle,
With hands tied by red string,
Nothing else, no one else.
Only thoughts and silent prayers are left to give.
Along with fragile dreams,
A world within my mind.
It’s all changing,
The birds are flying away,
The past is the past forever.
Yet will love,
Be indomitable?
For that is one thing,
I know I wish for.
How long have I silently been begging,
Quietly whispering a wordless prayer.
My glass star heart…
The books…
The flowers…
The starlit sky…
A single candle flame…
A silent prayer…
Are they even real?
Scattered paper,
Fragments of a record,
Blooming Forget-me-nots,
Stained with tears and pencil led,
Bits of red from cuts made by Thorns.
The only clues to thoughts, to memories,
Far away emotions,
All I hold so dearly to my broken soul,
My glass heart,
That I was close to losing,
That life is trying to take from me.
All I hold are Forget-me-nots,
A single candle,
With hands tied by red string,
What else is there to give?
What else can I dream?
What else can I see?
Forget-me-nots surround me,
While stinging Nettles,
The cursed Nightshade,
Beg me to sleep.
But Ivy and Holly,
Hold me back.
Fire burns away,
To ash they slowly become.
As in their place grows Hawthorn and Yew.
Forget-me-nots all over,
Broken glass still lies scattered,
Among a forest of books,
With glass stars and red string,
My glass star heart.
Are they even real?
Will love,
Be indomitable?
Will my silent prayers,
Be answered?
Will I always remember?
This inner world,
This other place.
That other me,
Are they even real?
Forget-me-nots surround me,
As I forever silently weave,
Quietly existing in my little world,
Embraced by the Forget-me-nots;
