You can take my pieces
when I explode
from the emotion of it
all,
and pat them down into the
green, meadow green earth.
I pray that I may then burst forth
as flowers and confetti
and colour the world
and shimmer in the rain
and wither back
so that I can cycle through
again.
That's all it ever is,
a cycle.
And that's quite alright
because then I can be pretty as
those things that make you
smile.
