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jeshaPoems
I sit here among the windmills Absently weaving wildflowers        In          Out            Pull              Repeat My fingers shake and I break A fine green stem The downy white head pops off like a cork And its orphaned body lays prone in the palm of my hand And I wonder Is it still a daisy without its head?        In          Out            Pull              Repeat I sit here among the windmills The sun watching over me His rays paint-brushing Shades of bubblegum pink into the milky skin of my bare bent back I think of the moon How tender strokes would soon give way to needles Dancing under blood-red skin And I wonder If maybe it should have been called moonburn instead?        In          Out            Pull              Repeat I sit here among the windmills Thinking of the God I don't believe in Guiding my hand as I scrawl Senseless words across my mind Pulling daisies from the ground And looping stems into crowns I cry for the loss As I come full-circle And I wonder What now?        In          Out             Pull I stand here among the windmills Pushing daisies with my dirt stained toes Naked and free Barring the crown on my head And the years etched across my face.        In   I sleep here among the windmills In a bed made of my own carnage Silver hair waving back in farewell And I realize I'll never be burned by the moon again.        Out -
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Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 5:46 PM UTC
Among the Windmills
I sit here among the windmills Absently weaving wildflowers        In          Out            Pull              Repeat My fingers shake and I break A fine green stem The downy white head pops off like a cork And its orphaned body lays prone in the palm of my hand And I wonder Is it still a daisy without its head?        In          Out            Pull              Repeat I sit here among the windmills The sun watching over me His rays paint-brushing Shades of bubblegum pink into the milky skin of my bare bent back I think of the moon How tender strokes would soon give way to needles Dancing under blood-red skin And I wonder If maybe it should have been called moonburn instead?        In          Out            Pull              Repeat I sit here among the windmills Thinking of the God I don't believe in Guiding my hand as I scrawl Senseless words across my mind Pulling daisies from the ground And looping stems into crowns I cry for the loss As I come full-circle And I wonder What now?        In          Out             Pull I stand here among the windmills Pushing daisies with my dirt stained toes Naked and free Barring the crown on my head And the years etched across my face.        In   I sleep here among the windmills In a bed made of my own carnage Silver hair waving back in farewell And I realize I'll never be burned by the moon again.        Out -
jesha
Written by
jesha
25/F/Scranton, PA
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 5:46 PM UTC
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