I went to the park today and this unique poem came to mind. Enjoy the weirdness. |
-A Dozen Dead Daises- by Keaton Foster A dozen dead daises In a field of infinitely many Some further distance away There are rows of trees Impenetrable Both visually and physically Beyond those trees is a city Millions of other people Dare I say, all of them unaware Going about their daily drum From home to work And then back again Many of them have families Realities And truth be known Their own besieged dualities I’d feel sorry for them if I could But truthfully I cannot I study all of them because I Find a way to study everything It’s just what I do How I have come to survive And now I’m here At ground level Smelling the grass Taking in every possible detail With regard to what is all around Taking it all in for myself To be later used as inspiration Figuring out what I know I can And guessing at what I don’t know For a man like me There can be nothing less Thus That is why I have noticed These A dozen dead daises In a field of infinitely many They are just laying here On the unrelenting ground Appearing quite lazy They are doing nothing Of any true significance Weirder still I can relate Easily I pick them up I study each and every one Subtleness is important to me I wonder what killed them I wonder who could have And why they would have The answer to either No closer do I know Separated from the root I know that they were pulled Taken from the ground Ripped free of all defining life Who could have done it Again trumps through my skull Additional preponderance joins in Why just these twelve They of course were once beautiful And now they are just weeds Just death to be presented Still they are full of color I for a second ponder Why can’t I just replant them Back into the unreceptive ground Can I somehow find a way To do what no god above Or devil below can do Can I offer them another chance Certainly, without question I cannot The damage done it too great It is, as always way too late Vibrant still Their predicament is misleading Because to someone naïve They would appear alive But certainly they are not They are as dead as death entails They had no chance The minute they were pulled From the unrelenting ground Severed from their roots They were without question doomed All twelve of them share In the fate of each other What a hell of a thing All of this, that is I’m sure that many others Here in this city park Would have no real idea That at their feet was an end That with some minor prodding They too could indeed relate with Am I fortunate to have found them I’d like to think that I am What will I do with what remains Such a decision Not so easily made I will carry them quite far away To a place different in every case Quickly I'm gone Leaving a soon to be filled spot In a field of infinitely many For a time Unquestionably empty… A Dozen Dead Daises Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2013 |