Will Roses Turn Red

how long will children carve the names

of colors in stanzas,

how long,

before the earth becomes a mirror and

all flowers turn black,

before they sip the soil

at teatime,

toasting to the heaven

above everyone they've ever lost,

and they'll be angels on that day,

standing on the dust

of paradise,

and, if we're lucky,

they'll play pretend,

and write rhymes

about roses,

like the petals

could one day last forever,

like their little polygraph heartbeats

don't give them away,

if only we could help them

disconnect,

this innocence would look less like a lie,

would look more like life,

and we'd teach them

to play hopscotch on our graves,

we'd teach them to see that angels

never fall before they leave the ground

and darkness sometimes creeps from above,

so I smoke to learn how

to say goodbye,

let's watch together,

as every cloud becomes lost,

and we'll finally see ourselves painted

by nature,

with petals black

and faces held in the memory

of the fallen.