Fluo·res·cent

I saw it when I was five, freezing

and burning at the same time,

a glowing bud of rose, saying:

"Oh welcome to your previous life."

Was I a wolf, a deer, a buoyant butterfly,

or was I dancing with my feet not moving,

singing without my voice heard,

an old pine against the gloomy sky?

Was I red like fire, or was I

blue like ice? What

was the past I had tossed behind, that

velvety black in a pair of puzzled eyes?

Was I up for someone to purchase,

or was I given the permission to die?

How'd I flown through the busy winds,

a stray little bee from its hive.

Was I good, or had I lied? Should I

prepare to live like karma didn't matter,

like, it could be a redemption,

or it could be a prize?

"Ah too many questions," said the rose,

dismissively as it sighed.

Burning and freezing at the same time,

its glowing pedals cut like knives.

Lines showed up in my palm,

a fluorescent map to read for life.

I woke up to the sound of a fallen leaf,

still five years old, in a

mid-autumn starry night.