The Thing That Calls Me Home. Poem by Napa Napa

The touch of its pedals can warm the coldest soul.

A delicate blue flower of the men that have fallen before.

Purple flickers in a field of wildflowers.

Lonely tears of nature.

A place that calls you to, "Come home! "

Their yellow scars left hidden music notes on my soul's melody.

Its star shape is like a shining star in the agony of the night.

A small bright light in the darkest corner of the mind.

The one that shouted to be heard but was forgotten by many.

Its scent calls death to its side.

Even Death's closest treasure.

Holy in sight but a sin to pick.

The most beautiful color it bleeds.

peaceful, sacred, and reserved for only the highest priest.

The bright warm dew drops of a field,

But was given to men to guard.

Forsaken by most but stunning as it stands alone.

Brings me peace upon every site.

A simple forget-me-not that calls for you tonight.