It’s the inimitable nature
Of a hand that is extended in love
To the one who walks with their thoughts  
As if an immeasurable weight rests on their shoulders

it’s the precise curvature of the smile
That an unfamiliar face gives
To the one whose heart pounds against their chest
After their voice projects into the open
When it's always just a whisper  

It’s the bed of relief that lies on the shoulder
Of a friend that offers it in goodness
To the one who never asks and always  listens

It is the heart of the outcast
That blooms into gardens
When they meet a soul
That takes them under their wing
So they too can fly
Without feeling the fall

Little scorned outcast,
all grown now and strong
Finally found somewhere he could belong,
but little scorned outcast could not forget
the toil, the tears, the blood and the sweat.

First he came for father, old and weak,
took his shotgun and pointed at cheek
The trigger 'twas pulled, Daddy was no more
but there were more than he to come for.

Mother was next, humming in her chair,
when she saw him her eyes bulged in stare
The scarf she doth knit for beloved son
wrapped tight 'round her neck before she could run.

Brother was out, throwing hay in the field,
strong and broad, poor wretch would likely be killed
But nimble and quick, took rusted scythe in his hand
spilled brother's own blood on brother's own land.

Lastly was fair sister, slept by the fire,
a quaint pretty girl nonetheless fated for the pyre
Her innocent face free from her deserved guilt
the wretch took knife from the table and buried its hilt.

Finally free from burden of the past,
the poor, little outcast looked his last
at last complete in his vengeful plight
the wretch no longer; disappeared into the night.

Helpless and forsaken,
runt in the mud
Cry for your mother,
call for your family mistaken.

Left in the cold,
left to die in the rain
Cry for your father,
as you feast on the mould.

Shivering small wretch,
surely soon dead
Cry for your brother,
while you sleep in the ditch.

Forgotten and famished,
all alone in the world
Cry for your sister,
as you shake in your anguish.

Everyday I am surrounded by
beauty
It enthralls me in all shape, form,
sizes and colors
The smell thrusts me into a field of
sunflowers
I look around and we are all the
same

The sun blankets our head in her
golden glow
And you bend your heads and
worship her in the West
I stand tall and withering in neither
directions

Her beam of light suffocates me and
dry up my roots
So I carry a silent prayer to the wind,
my seeds traveling along with it
It’s not long before her majesty
glowers behind a dark cloud
And I soak in the rain

The air smells different
Mother nature diffuses her earthly
fumes and it surrounds us
The dark consumes and your heads
are now facing towards me
I cower in the cold weather, allowing
the splatter of rain to bombard my
green skin

Maybe I’m not a Sunflower after all
Maybe I am a Calla
And my sharp shade of white
contrasting against your yellow
petals at night gave me away

Maybe if I drowned myself in your
golden ocean long enough
The god you worshipped every
morning in the east
Would straighten my stalk and
ground my roots and caress my
petals with her rays until I am an
imitation of you

Maybe I am a Sunflower after all

surrealism
a reality that is augmented, in some way bizarre
out of place but comprehensible
momentarily you're laughing in a chapter of a novel,
sipping wine in a short film,
dancing with your loved one through your imagination
somehow you see the world from such a distance, from the outside
and
in that split second of 'what the hell am I doing'

you just have to smile and move on.

not pet.

in window i sneak,
i see me alarmed
in glass, i ponder
the swish-locks they arm

not people!
inside,
not them, like me,
not scattered outside

no food for them waiting,
no fence for them pacing,
no kind of invading,
how come? how go?

see pet.

where found, i climb
in flurry, i bound
but they can't have
me,

not pet.