I.
Such a sad little flower,
Two tiny leaves at the bottom
The whole thing is only about
Six or seven inches long
Half of its petals haven't bloomed
It seems scared
Unready to show itself
To this cold, cold world
As if inside it somewhere
It knows it is only destined
To be cast aside by this poet
After he is done writing
This lame excuse for a poem

II.
No smell wafts from it
No intoxicating aroma
to intice the ladies
Of the classroom, over to me
It just lays, sheltered
Trying not to draw attention
No secrets with
It just is, hurt
The world has been cruel
And the daisy is scared

III.
The daisy is me
Torn from the ground it knew
Where it started to bloom
But was not allowed to finish
Crying inside it dies slowly
This flower, torn from love

IV.
It isn't a jaunting bud
No frills, not exciting
It doesn't call out
The other flowers flaunt
They, in full bloom
Stand out for everyone
This poor daisy
Barely a flower
Lies crippled by cruel hands

V.
It speaks to me
In a hushed voice,
Shaking at its own sound
"Hello? Hey, listen
I was trying,
Trying hard to grow
But the ground it got
So very cold one day
And I couldn't bloom anymore"
Pausing it collects its thoughts
"But, they didn't let me stay
So I could get better
They just cut me out
And stuck me in
With a bunch of other daisies
Now, I'm dying
And I am going to die
Alone, tired, and only partially bloomed"

10/30/2001

Posted on 10/30/2001
Copyright © 2024 Ryan M Evon