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Daisies
Sometimes,
dreams are better to habit,
Than the cold, cruel stab of this monotony,
Life goes on, they say
To what end, might I ask?
At what cost, might I ask?
The smiles that were painless,
That graced the innocents,
That brightened their countenance,
That bestowed peace upon
those beheld them,
Oh, that we realised it sooner!
For we destroyed them, you see
We crushed those tiny daisies under
our grimy soles,
And killed them with our will alone.
Now I look up at the safe sky, and ask
Can I set my home there?
The daisies are no more,
Only blades that shot up in their place,
Their eyes are colder than bitter winter,
Their words are silver blades,
Their faces are stone sculptures,
Because of us.
Now I mourn the smiles we lost,
The brightness that lit us up,
The grace that smiled upon our existence,
I mourn them all,
To a keening worse than that of a young widow,
As I hide behind, a fragile spectre of glass.
#hope #inspiration #poetry #life
© Elena
dreams are better to habit,
Than the cold, cruel stab of this monotony,
Life goes on, they say
To what end, might I ask?
At what cost, might I ask?
The smiles that were painless,
That graced the innocents,
That brightened their countenance,
That bestowed peace upon
those beheld them,
Oh, that we realised it sooner!
For we destroyed them, you see
We crushed those tiny daisies under
our grimy soles,
And killed them with our will alone.
Now I look up at the safe sky, and ask
Can I set my home there?
The daisies are no more,
Only blades that shot up in their place,
Their eyes are colder than bitter winter,
Their words are silver blades,
Their faces are stone sculptures,
Because of us.
Now I mourn the smiles we lost,
The brightness that lit us up,
The grace that smiled upon our existence,
I mourn them all,
To a keening worse than that of a young widow,
As I hide behind, a fragile spectre of glass.
#hope #inspiration #poetry #life
© Elena
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