Flowers

My heart is a boulevard in spring.
My heart is a cemetery in spring.
Both covered with flowers.
They are everywhere you look,
flowers to say goodbye to
(they are the ones with thorns
and the ones with the sweetest smell,
the most beautiful your eyes will ever see).
That's why we love them, flowers.
And we suffer when they die
(even though they don't).
We watch them fade,
but we only think they do
(we have to, don't we, without them?).
They live their own lives,
and they will always blossom
in spring, flowers.
And we will forever love them,
flowers,
red petals soft with the
moist of morning,
flowers so wild
no garden should possess.


(zé eduardo, sp, 26/5/2007)