Beholding the Game

I wake up to behold
Yet losing a game
Intensifies the desire to win.
I am like the first battle
Of winter
Against the warmth seeking
Love and flower-cracks
In the soul.
I wear an artistic coat
And give away
The lonely notes
Of stone hearted
Richness.
My soul is my sun
I am its bearer.
When the dew kissed your lips
I was the spring rain.
A flower blooms
In my soul,
I am a painting
That steals every busy glance
From the streets of luxury.
I am an art,
Life is priceless
Until death is our poem
Of loss.
Read a poem
At my grave.