it was near the cricket field,
stitched into the ground -

amid clover and tufts of grass -
a little ring of white mushroom,

longing for the night sky,
for the journeying cloud,

sweetened by flower and dust,
where the little fairies danced,

balancing on the air -
weaving the moonlight like cloth -

with their drowsy feet
and wings of blue stalk.

As the rising morning sun
shines its immaculate rays
on a field of sunflowers
these flowers , they awaken
from their nocturnal slumber
and ever so slowly
they spread their petals
and gaze upon the Sun

For in the Sun
they found an eternal source
of life , hope and warmth
And just like the Sun
will my soul tirelessly
shine upon hers forever
giving life , love and warmth
to this Sunflower , deeply rooted
within the crevices of my heart

You have spare parts, I hear?
Some gears to get me going?
Patches for the leaks in my eyes?
A prosthetic? Because I need a hand

I don't need you, but I do need the things you have
Spare me your arms, I need to be held
Spare me your eyes, I want to be seen
Spare me your time because I need more

You have the spare parts I need,
Only you can complete me,
Please fix me

I guess it would be kind of nice to learn
that spitting sweetness never gets you far
in early morning daylight. There's no charm
in forceful flames, when we will always burn
with uninspiring silence in return.
When finding fears that rise with the alarm;
dark, tempted lips insist on causing harm
then choke on rotten candies of concern.

I guess it would be nice to be taught how
to keep my bitten tongue secure and still;
to sleep through early mornings and allow
incessant pleading rest from overkill.
If you, my sweet, once chose to be around,
I understand why you’d have lost the thrill.