First off: unrelated.
Third off (because in a second,
I couldn't say what made it),
Not everything unsaid
Is meant to be written,
But the goal of life is definition.
So here is the recognition
For the ignition that starts in the eyes.
Sometimes flowers need to grow
Before you let them die,
Because they still go on without you
And their pollen is the stars
That ignite the night about you.
Tell me, how does it feel?
When those fire blue eyes materialize
As subconsciousness spills through the ether.
Thanks for the relief
However unclear,
And ever so brief.
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