No hand to hold,
No smile to warm,
A lonely field,
Is where I adorn,
A precious flower,
Petals so sweet,
A dreary home,
Beneath your feet.
You don’t look down,
Or pluck me from,
My home in the ground
You’d rather smash me,
With your weight.
I am the rose, painted by blood.
I am a daisy, sinking in mud.
I am no longer worth,
Your glance, your gaze,
You cannot bear
To see my colors.
Why do I infuriate you?
I am only a lily.
For your eyes to set upon,
You think that it’s silly.
But I am the brightness,
In your cold dark life,
And why you don’t pick me,
To just end your strife,
I don’t understand.
I am the dandelion,
Sticky, and yellow,
I am the mere tulip
Of the dirty ground.
Here for your amusement,
Your short gazes.
I wait.
To grow. And grow.
And die.
For that is the life of a flower,
And beauty may never last.