Daisy flower scented for days
I'll pick you this day
& adore you for days
Your countenance poises celestial
Plaining contours from troubled faces
Regard it in awe
O ye searching men
Feel its serene impression
Piercing trails through each grain
That lies glaze over every staring eye
Fondling pupils taut
In caresses overwhelming
Mellowing all rugged souls tame
Biting every heart's lip
In kissy scenes elating

Daisy flower hear me today
Your company I've longed for everyday,
Won't you be mine all my days? 🙃

From off the pores of pitch-black skin,
Floyd's soul saps aways,
Little by Little,
One last time
One last effort
One last fruitless plea
In tinny scraps of air
Pushed up from greying lumens
Sourly yields a quashed neck coldening ,
The sore man sighs the last of life,
The man with the loathed shade met his end

Frustrations of the Sad Sack.

From the blows of a feisty distress I ache ,
An insane spin of pain,
Inflated of a pungent vapour
my lungs turn a mouldy grey
In the repugnant heats of my anger and regrets.
Burning agony
In the most tender patches,

Though my voice makes no sound,
My noisy countenance tells it all in a disturbing loudness,
I call up the innermost parts from their ease ,
Call to the deepness of subconscious ponder,
If there be any superliminal faculty to see out my salvation
From this piling debris of dead ends.

I sleep and wake
To lend late night gazes on the mirror only to ask,
Should I have done it in the blinding blackness of the breezy shadows?
Or better in the perching heat of the brightness of a million suns?
O Whatever! , would it have mattered anyway?
Who cares?
For every motive of mine is ripped in cold blood.
The struggle with self is ******,
My flesh faints, my muscles slacken
I can't stand more of this losing debate.
I'm running out of steam
I've lost control,
My ego comes tumbling in an ugly splatter.
My fumbling reasoning has become ill-fated,
I think in wrong directions,
Mileages that clip me off into pits of no return.

I regret that I always have had to regret it all,
Perhaps someday not so far,
Heavens will care for my ever fresh tears,
To curse and toss my frustration to the basements of hell,
For mischief calls me by name,
But in that day I will cease from his memory
To be called by a new name ,

The Pause of Time.

Tick Tock,
Hear the sound of clicks
It's time ticking, seasons flaking away
With each new tick, never find ease
Lean closely my dear
& hear more cleanly,
This low pitched mellow voice,
Urging on, the rushing of mighty winds
In even bits of every unit
In each stutter of time

Clickity clat , are the batteries dying?
All is slow
I hope the hands of the mother clock are jammed,
Perhaps the sun is falling,
With its orbits never again to reign,
To press the laws of time

Or perhaps the light on time has shone
In rigid rays enforced a home on the inside
Kin to heart, petted to a snooze
To find me relief from the ladens of regret,
From a racing heart and a boiling mind
To have me reflecting on the little things
Amassed round and about my soul
To have me enjoy the procession of life,
Than suffer the knocks of a losing squabble
Against the hands of time