flowers make rain

this thing when it's red
this thing when it's dead
it doesn't rhyme

this rhyme when it's real
this rhyme when i feel
it isn't dead

the abberation's a cessation from gestation
i grow inside the red rhyme
i flow within blood time

the calamity's a travesty of ability
i die inside the red rhyme
i try within blood time

this hour when it moves
this flower when it proves
petals remain

this heart when it quakes
this part when it makes
flowers make rain

the emotion's the potion of sweet corrosion
where love floats in the red rhyme
the sweet perfume of blood time

the saccharine of back again and so on
the rush of red rhyme refrains
whenever the flowers make rain

this is my time
blood time
when rain rhymes

coming around

wander broken paths and cut your feet on the aftermath
count the lines you have crossed looking back
shoulder holds the setting sun in a wisftul haze
there always seem to be better days
there always seem to be better ways

scout the overgrown ride a trail to the other side
count the lines you have drawn looking back
twilight beams blue streaks up weathered cheeks
there always seem to be better weeks
there always seem to be fading creaks

step forth a shaking shoe and hope to land on solid new
count the lines you have grown looking up
wisps of golden hair shade dance in the morning air
there always seems to be better there
it always seems to be everywhere