Sakura siren song


‘Can you smell the spring on the air?’ said the eternally hopeful
The Sakura sings silently into the wind
And lands gently onto her hair
The softest pinks melt into creams
And never in my wildest dreams could I be more aware
Of the contrasts in colours
combined with the decorations of circumstance
We arrived at this dance by chance
But spare the ideals of romance for a moment
Could you?
The window to this room is a stones throw away
And if you never bloom would your branches still sway?
The scent from the fresh dew on a rose
Creeps inside of your nose and throws off your floral compass
The birds flying south curl the corners of your mouth
The web tightens and destroys all your focus
Their siren song sounds so sinister When it’s heard by the late risers
But a beginner swimmer toils by the river bank
Their ambiguous stroke style resembles the smoke on the wood pile
Of the slowly burning oak laden pyres.
The eternally hopeful raises her hands
As if to make me understand such great plans
But it lands at my feet like a letter:
‘What would hurt me more? If I stopped breathing…
Or if I stopped believing things would get better?’



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