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I came back from the dead with petals in my mouth,
The grave had taught me silence, the spring had taught me doubt.
No angels marked my rising, no trumpets split the sky—
Just dust that shook its sorrow, and stars that passed me by.

My new life was a hallway of doors I couldn't name,
Each one a gleaming promise, each one a colder flame.
I saw you by the fountain where lilacs used to grow,
But time had changed your shadow—I turned and let you go.

You are now too old for me, your eyes no longer gleam
With reckless flights of longing or fire caught in dream.
You speak in careful phrases, as if you fear the storm
Of youth that once could move you, that once had kept you warm.

It wasn’t better that way, the peace they promised me—
The flowers smelt of ashes, the rivers failed the sea.
No song could scale the silence, no light could pierce the chill,
And even in the meadow, my heart was never still.

I survived childhood again, the screams behind the door,
The quiet meals of sorrow, the footsteps on the floor.
The toys that knew my secrets, the nights I couldn’t sleep—
The prayers I whispered faintly, too small and slow to keep.

For what? you ask—oh stranger, I ask the same today:
To write the truth in lilacs, to kiss and walk away.
To find within the ruins a single living rose,
And feel it cut me gently—like something beauty knows.

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