Flowers In Her Last Dying Eyes Poem by Tammi Celina Lyons

Who am I to take a petal away from the seed that blooms its wings?
I feel its delicate problems, they sing to cry to float away.
They sing they're delicate problems, when I pick the flower that bleeds.
I take pieces of memories and thoughts that take control of me; its all reality.

I sit here in a field of weeds, the smell of nature consumes me.
I lay there and dream of better things sometimes its almost great to remember what I envision.
The feel of the wind, the songs of birds, puts my mind to ease; I could dream.

Time is within my fantasy, a limit to realize I can still grow beautifully.
I listen to the sounds of trees whispering to the wind, to sing a song that can last until I'm drawn and gone.

I am with you; a piece of myself against your world.
I lay here wishing time would collect my thoughts.
I have become the dirt within my skin, the growth of multiplying atoms and neutrons, oxygen to breathe: begin again.