If My Cranium Were a Daisy: a poem

Staff Writer

With each wilting flower,

The new day dawns

And the sun’s blonde hair, ever so slowly,

Seeps into the skyline, each moment,

A little bit further, a little bit further.

But dusk will return, seasons the same!

Sure, but never again will petals un-bloom

And seeds un-sprout, for certain,

Dusk will return, seasons the same,

But gone are the moments my flower stood a stem,

Or my petals gleamed in the innocent, pure white,

For we became slaves to the oncoming tyranny of the sun

And today, my God, today I’ve yellowed,

Matured, my flower wilts.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s