The dried petals of the violets lie
Upon the floor
Now chiseled and curled
Laconically adorned
And I the priest
Who has come to worship
This conjunction come
In sacred silence
As my vision stares
And all turns soft and blurs away
In slow immediacy
I cannot help
But touch my thoughts
As the petals crack
And break so frail like some beauty slain
That stains the moist floor
Of my inner being
Like a chrysalis waiting that unknown gift
Rather ecstasy in the loss of self
AsIDream 