Dark hole star
Carved without knowing into the corner of my heart
With an appetite for bloom in it's glorious range
For apples, for trees
For meadows, for plains
As it is for the seasons prior desire
It is that which you want
As your taste requires

The honeybee lands onto the small flower,

A friendship blooming immediately.

The bee talks of pollen and how wonderful it is,

But the flower is silent.

The flower is afraid that it will be used time and time again,

Endlessly dying in a fantasy that we call love.

The flowers don't bloom,
And the bees fall into sudden doom.
The seasons pass by,
With the sun and the water and the people.
Nobody sees.
Nobody buys flowers.
Nobody has nice gardens.
The bees start to fly away,
Some die.
The ladies never receive flowers,
They cry.
The cities are empty and dull,
The people smile sadly.

Flowers seem to bloom ever so beautifully,
The colour stains to them like blood.

The water that filled their stalks gave them the most power weapon to live for,
Even if it were for a week, or even a month over time.

When the time came,
Slowly and peacefully the daisies petals shrivel and lose colour.

They fall...

Because he was her water that quenched her thirst,
And her sun that helped her grow.

He represented yellow.

Yellow represented many things love, the sun, happiness, and warmth.

But to her,
He was a daisy.

She bathes in the sun’s blazing rays,
still confused of what she is
She glides passionately as the moon goddess guides her shadow
She is intense, powerful, and radiant as the sun, yet playful, delicate, and precious as the moon
She adores her sun as it makes her ready to face her exciting days
Yet she worships her moon as it makes her strong to battle her cold,  lonesome, and lengthy nights
She is soft yet she has strength,
she’s fragile yet she’s tough
Her sun is her compass but her moon is her light
She has her sun, she has her moon
She then remembers, she is a bud ready to bloom

plain written words
bloom within the readers mind
gate into their souls