Don’t wake in the world

where the trees all died,

or slumber much in any place

where flowers wither

or give thorns.

Don’t look into the sun,

nor the eyes of a child

thin as dead trees,

withered like frail flowers.

Don’t search too long

for green in endless sands,

nor for any more time

than what you’re allotted

in your hourglass head.

The boy was ten,

the skeleton seven, maybe.

Don’t cry for them,

don’t fold your hands.

Don’t start asking questions now,

nor seeking answers tangled

up inside your soul.

Don’t consider the forever green,

don’t drink the Living Water.

Don’t listen to the truth,

nor put your life

in the hands of hope.

Don’t tell me you’re gone.

Don’t lie to me, boy.

Don’t blame me, I was dead already.

Don’t give up, nor tell me I’m wrong.

Don’t lend yourself to the wind,

nor open your sails to the breath

of your screaming soul.

Don’t forget about the forever green

beating in your chest,

nor turn your eyes away from

tomorrow.

Don’t you stop praying for me,

please,

nor think of me much.

Don’t grow a talent tree,

nor a log in your eye.

Don’t wake in the world

where the trees all died.

Don’t worry so,

the forever green comes soon.