I thought I had years,
I thought I had hundreds,
But I only had this one tear
Of a breath left
Amongst
All of them
Down my cheek
As caress
To recollect
Before it dries
In the wind’s faithfulness;
And what more shall I do
To leave a legacy
To be remembered by
And not forgotten
Like every droplet of rain
That has ever bloomed a bouquet
Of fragrant flowers
Begotten
What more shall I do?
But leave behind
The blood
From the prick
Of my heart
As a punctured
Love
To water
As a single pearl of dew
Amongst the deluge
That has ever bloomed
A bouquet of fragrant flowers
Dried and strung
For you,
And that,
Will have to be
Enough…
2021, barefoot poet
{ Photo by Hasan Almasi on Unsplash }