Tragedies

The beauty of a wilted flower is

Lasting, an impression of ash on snow,

A drop of blood against the shining of the moon.

We're all tragedies, sitting silently,

blind, and deaf, mute, can somebody tell me

when the sun will come up?

The earth is dying, sucked dry of its life- blood,

I'm dying too.

Rain falls, my eyes open, the tears will not come,

I've forgotten how. I've forgotten what the rain feels like.

Ring around the rosies,

truth in a child's song, someday we'll all fall down,

like the wilted flower,

but lacking in its grace, silence until the very end,

a life spent away, and then you realize it was nothing.

At the last second,

you know your heart's stopped beating,

and the blood that sings in you has frozen,

you are blind, you are deaf, you are mute .

Can anyone tell me what's happening?

We are all tragedies,

hopeless in our silence, we refuse to live,

we refuse to give up the safety of the darkness that surrounds us,

our cocoon, we refuse to become butterflies,

we stay forever on the ground,

and then we fall.