seed:the playwrite's thought,
director prepared the field;
actor's sowing act!

i want to be in a field of sunflowers and
i want to take you with me
we can run away at three in the morning; going on adventures that we’ll remember forever
we can bring a bottle of ***** and forget about the rest of the world
we can watch the moon glide across the sky
taking in the presence of the dazzling lights of stars
rex orange county can play from the radio while we make the night worth it

i want to be in a field of sunflowers and
i want to take you with me
so that we can see the yellow flowers and feel like we can be happy again
so that we can belt out our favorite songs without anyone hearing
so that i won’t feel alone anymore

i want to be in a field of sunflowers and
i want to take you with me
because ‘loving is easy’ is relatable in more ways than one
because i want to love and be loved back
and bringing you on my journey to the field will make that happen
they can call us crazy but they should call us
sunflower dreamers

Green.
Like a field or a forest,
That color I deeply desire.

Blue.
Like the heart of the ocean,
The color I could get lost in forever.

But when you change from green,
To blue,
And back to green,
Then mix them,
It's like heaven.
Like all the stars have combined,
Into two beautiful eyes

Those eyes are yours
And I will drown in them forever

You are the rose
that managed to grow
In my field of darkness

Can a broken heart,
be compared to a lily field,
where every stem a sword it wields,
their smiles sweet, their words bitter?

Can aching feet,
be compared to footprints in the sand,
from days of old and days of man,
where journeys traveled over yonder?

Can a hoarse voice,
be compared to howls of dark wolves,
cinnamon tasteless and not of cloves,
when taste buds are uselessly used?

Can red dry eyes,
be compared to blazing suns,
ones that do not walk, but do not run,
and never fly faster than the wind?

Can a senseless poem,
be compared to fickle hearts,
where it depends on a person's part
in their imagination?

I go through a lot.
When I listen,
I can hear myself
being kicked.
I can hear screaming,
of delight or of anger.
I can hear
The amazing sound,
of the ball hitting the net.
Everyday, I watch kids,
dribble me up the field,
Aiming for a goal,
to lead their team to victory.

I'm used to the smell of smoke,
I have watched many bridges burning in my past,
that's why I never heard when my dreams burn to ashes.
all the pages and passion raised by flames carried by wind,
I have inhaled my own death.

Little red
Wildflower
A Poppy
In a field with others
Like him
Gently sway in the in the breeze
Sometimes watching the other
Poppies
Sometimes
a couple of lovers
Coupling.