by Malaika Flores

As the soul needs its shadow,

The heart needs its lover,

Just as a clock needs its time to keep,

The enemy’s dagger must plunge so deep.

When the daisy needs its meadow,

And the stars yearn for a summer night’s sky

When a tear’s joyful face begins to tear,

What will become of our little world, not meant for us to keep?

No meaning,

And then,

No truth.

This is when we find the nursery within a roof,

When learning to love turns to

Living for death, and

Dying to know becomes

The blankest of expressions.

When that time comes,

And the end of time is near,

The symphony of heartbeats, and the language of the winds

In the narrowest of whispers, signals a new day to come.

On that day,

When we find a hunger for our oppressive expression,

The 60 minutes of each 24 hours

Fills sun-bleached, foolish minds with delusional joy.

I envy the poor girl,

Untouched by the dismal roots,

Excited by a mark on a calendar,

Not by a pulse, a heartbeat skipped, a dream.

And, as I lay with my feet wandering in the soft eddies of the river,

Eyes turned to the skies’ alabaster blush,

On the loneliest day of the year,

I ask the ocean above me


Why it has to be today,

Why it can’t happen always.

And, love fluttered gracefully by,

Too shy to tell

That I had no fears.