your pain may not heal,
too drained to feel,
but life drags on.
your heart may ache,
in part for someone you just can't shake,
but life drags on.
but don't yet give up
for what a gift it is to live, buttercup.
I searched this book full of words
Something that could describe him
Wouldn't know how to put in terms
Just as I found nothing
That understood the greatness behind his gaze.
[D] could go for the Density of the metal that protruded from his chest
The blade was shining autonomously like the crimson full moon
On Werewolf Territory Day
Like a piece of wood thrown into the fire
I could see the flame in his eyes.
There was the beauty but the beauty
Was nothing but fear
His words gave me shivers as I walked throught the path
I wonder what would be like to define him
Would the words be real just like him?
But would he be real or would he be smudged ink passages
In this old moldy diary smelling like also old roses.
[I] would go for Imagination, place where he crossed me
Like a wild horse running from the storm in the field
He had worries all over his mind but couldn't show anyone
Selfish way to say he had feelings over the scary sense.
Beauty had no name
But if I knew his, I would surely call it by
Beauty is his name
Had no harms but had such a charm
I could feel it in his eyes
The look he gave me I never saw before.
[C] would go for Coward
But that honestly applied more to me
He tried and insisted once and twice
Maybe more, but I had no ears back in then
I was deaf by the occurrences.
Tried to warn me
That things wouldn't be my way
Nor would they stay the same
I said I would try.
[T] would go for Tactless
Something I wished he was not
I wouldn't feel his power on me now
If he wasn't, but we don't get what we want
Is it what I truly want or am I the tactless?
Once his fingers ran down my skin like dance in the rain
I could feel the warm touch he had on his fingertips
To be honest I was scared, that was new
And they say the new is good but that didn't feel likely.
[I] again could go for Icy
He was such a piece of ice in the start
Ironic when he could but indeed
The void was where I always went in the end.
Indeed he had no mean to be like that
Still he didn't know love as I did
He had no signal of it but family
And I hoped with all my heart
That he would feel the same I had back in time.
[O] would go for Observant
He always had that over watch eyes
In time I doubted if he could blink
Never did when I was looking
And I was always looking.
Once I told him I could be his muse if he wanted
I bet he thought I was only saying stupidity
Indeed I caught him looking at me when was all over
And then he brought all I had, again.
[N] could go for Naive
Something that back in time I thought I was
But wasn't I just enjoying the good time before the danger?
The danger looked like a fun time back in then.
Bathing at my own blood was not what I thought I would be doing in the end of all
Still I didn't cut myself in the outside
I was emerging from blood.
[A] would go for Acrimonious
Caustically he destroyed me
As nuclear acid
In our fierce dispute
Pain in my bones is what I felt but I had no mark on me.
Slowly he built me up
Sweet buttercup of mine
Bitter piece of cinnamon
On my ice cream pie.
[R] could go for Ravenous
Because there I was again
Rabid for you as a piece of meat
That I could not take outta my head
I had it on the back and on the center.
I was hungry, but not for your body
Your body was not the only thing I had on mind
I had your mind on mine
I wanted to eat your feelings as you ate mine
But I would do it gently.
And finally, the letter [Y] would go for Youthful
I suddenly stopped emanating all that old vibe
And after meeting you once and twice or more
Knowing every centimeter of your skin as some subject I knew best
I was glowing youthfully as some missy that just born.
I was the lady on the red dress
Soft skin and well done hair, glowing as the moonlight
The smell of old roses emanating from me
And from that moment I knew
You had regrets, my sweet dictionary.
I was able to finish this without crying, congr. to me buddies. I'm setting my baby free today, I hope his words mean something for you.
She's my wildflower
I'll give my love and she'll devour
Every minute every hour
All motivation all my power
When I'm asleep
Paid by the hour
In the woods
Or in rain shower
A buttercup was beautifying
for the afternoon dance
her cheeks were flushed with water
the garden sprinkler had thrown on.
Her petals were fully stretched to a softness
that even the butterflies slipped when they trod upon.
the sun beams bounced off on the mirrored smoothness
and a bumblebee looked on hovering above with second thoughts
envying her golden locks.
She bathed in the sunlight turning every cheek for the warm rays
batting her long anthers dipped with thick orange powder.
I watched her shake her hips to the folk wind tunes
tip toeing into my heart
her yellow liquid lined eyes delving mine
making me smile
when I have almost forgotten how.
The brush is still in the garage
on the cold, cement floor
beside the empty tin of paint,
its sides eternally dripping
with a dried, buttercup hue.
The walls which we smothered with color
are faded, now riddled with children’s earthy hand-prints
after a day in the mud. A mess to us,
the results of battles, safaris,
and space travels to them.
I could paint over the marks,
start over fresh and show off to friends.
But I think I’ll let it be.
No longer the bright yellow of a sun trapped in a painting,
these four walls have still brightened many days.
There has been roaring laughter,
divided by a few screaming matches
that have made the dog whimper.
This room has seen much of our lives,
and life cannot be painted over so easily.
So it stays. The color will always be buttercup to me.
Each morning he would guess a floret that might match
And every night,
When he pulled her close under
He would admit defeat.
"Of course how foolish I've been!
No Chrysanthemum can compete
With the way your velvet lips flood pink
After I kiss you, my love.
Not even the brightest rose
can compare to the sunshine
that pours from your soul
every day, my darling."
The sprouting buttercup
dangles into the purpled,
doting sky. It's waxy spangles
nuzzle the moist,
crisply dewed, fluff
whilst billowing across merry air.
The yellow buttercup
dozes in spiced, lean dapples,
setting its soul ablaze in sumptuous echoes at the sheer
drape of dawn.
The teacup buttercup
outspreads it's wings
amongst tall spiked grasses
and wild flowers.
Shifting shafts and shards
of grass and glass
and forever awaiting the larks cry
which means its time to die.
— The End —