image credits: Xmel.com  I watch as the blood turns  to flowers  like I turn disappointments  into poetry and exhaling  makes it easier  when you're gone, when  we're all gone   we walked with such haste  and kicked curbs so  stubbornly  that the world stilled  into a painting   we are strangers with  empty faces and closed  fists and the stories lift  from the frame like birds  in blacks and white  migrating across nations  last in a shrill quiet  looking for  September.   -bryam  
Think, learn & enrich the knowledge