Poppies And Daisies

Poppies and Daisies
Lying down upon oceans and rivers, the sun sets
while stars shoot across the sky,
contrasting in the sky's darkened mask.
We were lined up against a fence made of
splintered strives,
broken planks,
but despite the spiritless timber,
I leaned back because I knew nothing.
Typical children of the hovered oaks sat around me
their poppies and daisies faced up and smiled,
while mine, wilted and discolored,
and soon the fence and fields before me turned to black and white.

A breeze blew and waltzed through,
blowing the strands of the scholars beside me,
far to the left and far to the right, all their strands nuzzled the wind,
but my coarse locks of hair hung low,
sending shivers up my gruff neck and shoulders;
while the rest danced, I could barely stand.

Inspectors with clipboards made of judgment and so called 'love, '
walked past our lines,
our military,
mastered lines,
they stood straight and tall with spines superb,
and I lacked their secure bones,
but nonetheless I smiled
just like the others' gardens did.

The inspectors backs turned and once more, against the fence we sat,
and on went setting suns, shooting stars and glowing moons;
I sat beside this fence not alone this time, an apprentice clasped my hand
and poured over my herbs a water full of a clarity, I knew had not existed.
I watched in awe as my cluster of my wilted and brown, poppies and daisies,
bloom into what had then turned into roses.

…Breezes blew the strands of my hair that day…

by Alyssa Taylor

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