Daisy
was a curious
     mind,




                     She     imagined
                           years of delightful excitement
                                       unexpected carelessness
        she was a creature of surprising energy

I wanted to bury my feelings for you, deep within the ground so it was out of sight.

Never knew it was a seed, sprouting and blooming. It was beautiful you see  just one of a kind.

But I get it, you won't choose it.

Who would pick a daisy in a garden of roses.

And then you picked the one with the most thorns, now it's painted red just hiding in the colors.

But it's actually grey because you left.

Daisy he desired, and of Daisy he thought
His eyes only for her, and to hold her he sought
Riches and Daisy, perfection, together
He wanted it all, flawlessly, forever
Longtime dreamer, believer, hopeful and true
Desperate for an illusion, with absolutely no clue
That his flowering dreams were wilting away
To become nothing but memories that hold little sway
Over what his life has become from before
And the dream he had once envisioned, they tore
To pieces that lay, shattered and broken
Shards of a past come future, only tokens
Of Nick Carraway's memoir writ after two years
No mourners at the funeral, goodbye without tears.
His lasting imprint, whether worst or best
Tells us that hopeless dreamers can never rest
For the elusive green light that stretches far
We go faster, faster, towards that fixed star
Boats against the current, waves beating high
Despite it all we trudge forward, and always we try.

its harder to speak than to yell.
and harder to yell than to.....think.
but.
as the slumber passes, and the daisies awake.
i feel as if i could talk to you.
just talk.
it might not be a real conversation.
because i might jut blink. and the time i felt i could talk.
would have dashed away from me.

in the night, the stars form into flowers.
others see constellations, or space stations.
but i am unique. i see picturesque flowers bathing in the night glow.
iris. rose. both in bloom. blossoming from the roots of the starry night.
it is really easy to know.
just harder to
speak.

Daisy was like a flower in Autumn,
She had a face just like chalk.
Daisy had a heart that burnt auburn,
And had eyes reminiscent of a hawks.

Daisy flew from April to May,
As her happiness drained from her eyes.
Daisy flew from glee to dismay,
The devil often made her cry.

Daisy tried so ever much,
But Daisy could never fight enough,
And Daisy wilted into the ground,
Just another soul in hells lost and found.

Vulnerable years gave me sound advice
and I turn it over in my mind.
The advantage of sadness took my voice,
crumbled it,
sealed away my words
and left me to become unusually communicative
in my own reserved ways.
I understand that I maintain habits of a curious nature,
that I make you the victim
of sleep, preoccupation, hostility.
I know the secret griefs of your wild, unknown hands.
The way you love me
is laced with plagiarism and gesture,
filled with opposite alphabets and slurred speech.
I may be destitute and old
but my skin will weep for you,
my body will be soft,
my words will linger like syrup
in the cracks of your palms.
After an unknown point,
I won’t care what I’m made of.
Judging you is constant waiting and infinite hope.
I am certain that my decency will become snobbery,
that my tolerance will fade
and I will become impatient.
East from here, west from here,
is the sun – uniform, under intricate attention.
If I am the unbroken chain
of successful gestures,
my body is but betrayal
waiting to be unearthed.
Will my repulsive nature
disturb your peace,
the way you rest so unattainable, so beautiful?
What foul dust floats in the wake of your limbs,
so close to the useless sorrows of younger men?
It was a prominent, descending tradition
of pride and fault.
You were supposed to look like him,
a delayed man from long ago,
the centre of the world.
You bubble and boil and brood
and I make you restless
in a warm, wide season.
Too warm, too wide.

I do not like a rose
It is thorny

I love to be just
A simple Daisy