Small Batch Poems (Part 1)

114

The daisies never grew the same after she died.

Small little buds that never quite bloomed,

they died before their white petals could greet the world.

She used to water them with her tears

and beamed them with the light from her golden smile.

With her ethereal voice, she sang them morning blessings and nightly prayers.

Without it all, the daisies died with her.

102

One day, you’re going to go through the motions of your life.

You’ll open up your eyes,

seeing how the trees have changed

from a decaying brown to a vibrant green.

You’ll be conscious of your brush strokes in the picture of the world

and realize that it’s time to take off your sweater,

pack it away,

and forget about the season before.

19

Plucked from the stem

a day too early.

You taste of bitterness

and hate.

Served in a bowl

with those much brighter.

A simple sweet bite

of a skewed up smile.

Tossed into the trash

with the rest of the rot.

All because you were

plucked a day too early.

Small Batch Poems