spring - summer - autumn - winter
winter - autumn - summer - spring

Spring. The season to rejoice, the reason to appreciate beauty. Spring, the season I met her, in a field of poppies. It's breathtaking beautiful. It smells of wet rain every day. And bliss. It's heaven. Oh, it must be heaven. It smells like life and 'alive' is the air I inhale.

by the time I find my way
back to earth,
it's autumn.

When it's raining, I think of her. Her eyes are blue, cool like the breeze that pushes back my hair, and light as the breath that is sighed by the earth along with the autumn wind. No, it's not autumn time.


You don't need a lot to describe her. She isn't a lot of things. But I'm certain she falls from the sky. She is the rain that lands on my lips. She is the rain that soaks my shirt as she cries for hours without saying a word. She is the rain that keeps the poppy field with glamour. She is all the rain that Poppyfield needs…

and all I've ever wanted.

spring - summer - autumn - winter
winter - autumn - summer -

Summer nights are sweet, so sweet they are like oranges. No, strawberries. Yes, summer smells like strawberries but summer has the color of orange that flows from the sky. It spreads onto the Poppyfield and everything glimmers like - it's heaven. I'm speechless like when the sun sets. While we wait for dusk to settle, I'd pick out my favorite poppy and place it behind her ear. She scolds. But I can see her hidden smile between her words, and she beams happiness that spilt second she closes her eyes before opening them to reveal that cool blueness that is almost piercing. She tilts her head to look this way, not only when the sky changes color does she get distracted. Like a child. 'Oh!' And I have to look as well. Something has splattered onto the sky and has created a mess of fiery orange and yellow. Then pink. Like the lemonade she makes. Then it turns the shade of purple of her dress. Slowly, the sky is dipped with dark blue like the paper earlier with patches of ink, because I've held my pen too long with the tip touching the surface as I struggled with a word to describe how - then it just ripped open. I fall forever into the pit of the blackcurrant sky… 'Oh,' she pulls me back gently, and I know there and then I don't need to find any words because she is right in front of me.

she reminds me of the autumn wind
that the earth sighs along to.
but it's still not autumn.

Patter-patter rain.
It rains and I smile because I know somewhere she is falling with grace. I sit but my mind wanders off to the field and with the rhythmic tap-tapping I see us dancing across the rainbow. Yes, it must be heaven. I throw down my pen and lean out of the window. I can't wait for the sun to set so it could be as speechless as I. The poppy stares at me by the windowsill, and I find myself smiling like a fool, thinking that I have yet to find another poppy - one that has to be a cooler blue and so real that it's nearly piercing.

i haven't forgotten the time when she took me to heaven.





one day I waited for rain, but instead came



i sigh like the earth along with the autumn wind.
and still I wait.


When it's not raining, I think of her. I sit all day. Every day the sheets of paper pile up. Most of them have holes, but they are nowhere as big as the sky I have ripped open,

because it couldn't rain;

and because it wouldn't rain,

the poppy no longer stares at me by the windowsill.

And the Poppyfield is dull,

just like that.

like that sky.
like that time I tried to write.
like that purple of the dress.
like that lemonade.
like that mess.

life have thrust to me
and forced me to swallow frost -


time hasn't;
something bangs on my door.








now it's spring again.
and to me, everyday; it's raining.

Author's Note: I've lots of fun writing this one. A guy's point of view is more poetic, yesh? The inspiration came from a picture of a poppy field, then everything just flowed out. The 'blackcurrant sky' idea is a poem I've been stuck on for ages. Yes, it's similar to Raspberry Nights. :)