Poem — At The Grave Of Wilde

At Wildes grave

If every man could take

A page out of Wildes book;

Learning of love

And holding it

Despite others and learning

Of life’s unearned heart aches

No longer containing it, leaving it buried

In dusted caches.

We look at stars

Regardless of which gutter

we come from

But we learn to be

At home in such gutters

Afraid of the stars themselves.

You taught others

That a single star

Could be worth a damn

And that the flowers we leave behind

Are worth preserving

Even when no one may be listening

We still have love even

The coldest of places.

An Irish peacock who learned

To downplay his plumage,

You were taught that love

In whatever stages of its complexity

Was never noble, nor worth pursuing

Nor worth claiming even when

It is caught in your minds darkest webs

I lay down, and lay two gifts

A bright collection of a rainbow bouquet

And a small, bright red lipstick

You need to look your best

For where you are going

I hope to see you down there

One day.

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