Little daffodil perching on the ledge;
which way do your petals lean?
The puppeteer orchestrating your sorrow laughs into the abyss.
Yet your petals continue to fall.
So why do you stare through my soul little daffodil?
Why do you remind me of what I once was?
Someone who knew not of their fate, but lived happily to be apart of a world that didn't choose them back?
The daffodil leans closer to the edge.
My scream is echoless and solemn.
For I already I know of which way my little daffodil falls.
I know of how her petals wilt,
and I can hear the sound of her stem falling onto the world that once kept my daffodil warm.
My eyes are wet with the memories of what once was,
but I know I need to ask;
if only for my sanity.
My voice cracks like embers full of fire and soot.
Why do you stare at me little daffodil?
Her petals turn so slightly.
wary of my tone.
and a whisper echos from her melodic voice,
"You gave up on me."
The words tremble within my bones.
YOU ARE READING
Melancholy Thorns
PoetryPoetry is an outlet Millions of words devised into emotions It means thousands of things And simultaneously nothing at all. Someone once told me "the older the eyes, the heavier the burden." For those that feel lost in this world........ - I ho...
