I Have Died On My Birthday Poem by jerome moore

I walk
through empty fields
empty diamonds
there is smoke fire ash
clove
chain links on the fence.
my mind is listening to things
it has never.
Sitting on the empty bench,
home team with no visitor.
to be born again
from this ash,
fly away fly away.
running wild in the streets
spinning on these Ferris wheels.
one time I was content but I asked for space
now I got it,
its so dark and empty.
where does it end?
I walk alone these days.
we were simple
we didn't have to use words
just feelings.
how simple were we when the autumn took
to the pages of my journal
the world was ugly
but in our shell we heard Oceans
waves rocks birds.
we jumped in
when the rain came
hung our feet out the windows
of cars
attics
there were beds
strangers beds, our beds
we made love over the sleeping city
we stretched our curious wings
I thought it could bring us back to life
I made my nest now I have to sleep in it
cha ciao
we've seen the country in license plates
we fought through the fog smoke
when we got hit out of the sky and fell into the soil the soot
I tried to bring you back to life

I fall in love with shimmering pieces I see through the mirror
much too often I drown narcissistic and shallow
much too often
I can make mosaic out of memories
My imperfections
My idiosyncrasies
My tragic loves
between you and myself