Sorta Kinda Haiku: March 2011

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Yellow flowers closed
to a gray, threatening sky.
Roots drink; petals grow.

Regret, Self-Pity--
Here you are again! You turn
up, though we're not friends.

I prick myself with
needles to feel the blood, but
I'm already dead.

Rain on the roof is
the sound of green hills, full streams,
eventual bloom.

Paw the mouse until
it dies and fling it a bit.
Killing can be fun!

White ghost and dark page,
sun upon the water-- night
approaches alone.