by Sydney H.
I am many things,
None of which are seemingly significant in any sort of
the manner.
However, everything I am, I can assure you, you are
not.
I am the orange sun in the morning sky,
Clouded by last night's storm.
You are the rain,
The torrential downpour and encore of rain,
Cold and dark and inhumane.
I am the tulip rejoicing for spring,
Pushing my way up through the earth,
My pedals the crown of a king.
You are the dirt, the godforsaken dirt,
Suffocating and undulating the cause of my aching
pain.
I am an old song,
The melodious symphony of all notes played wrong.
And yet as broken heart strings bled the blues,
I reached into the sky and handed every star to you.
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