meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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Knock, Then Come Through

Being Ourselves...

So Glad I Met You

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I Turn Forward



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If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

Beyond Door Number Three

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Great Big Waterproof World

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Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

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Someone Send Out A Search Party

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The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall

The Differences

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The Storm

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And Then It Wasn't Hard To Be Eight Years Old

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Elise, Elise

The Make-Up of Molecules

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Threading Myself Through The River Called Night

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Dragons

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Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years



On
a certain day
in May
I might remember you.
I'll be drenched
in the sentimentality of it.
A flower will sprout from each
blue grey tear
I leak.
Then promptly withering to
brown,
will die
at my small gnarled feet.
Unlike the century plant
which lives and thrives but blooms
but once a hundred years.
None of my blooms, so precious,
made of tears, in torrents.





Legal Copyright January 17 2013/ 10:11am PST
 All Legal Copyrights Reserved By This Author
Melissa A Howells //Meloo Straight from her Tilt-a-World

COPYRIGHT FOR THIS WORK, FOR THIS SITE TITLE BY THIS AUTHOR





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