Out of countless things, I wish to be a gardener.
Not because I like the smell of a violets.
Not because I like the look of a dandelion.
And certainly not because I like flowers!
I wish to be a gardener simple for one reason.
You.
You always loved flowers.
You simply adored the smell of a lilac.
The fresh breeze of the rose bush you see.
Picking roses left and right as you see them.
Fit perfectly within your hair.
You dance around the meadow wildly.
Because my dear, you don't care.
You loved the cherry trees when they bloom
But who doesn't when it's under the staried eyes moon?
You simply craved a rose every day.
And I delivered it upon you now.
But to our Graves these days.
We're not dead though it seems.
I should have died honestly at age 14...
You...
Age 15...
But the flowers...
You picked.
I shot.
Together making a photo worth a thousand and the lots.
It's funny to me.
Don't you see?
I wish to be a gardener.
Not for the flowers or the trees.
But simply because.
It'll keep you coming back to me...
YOU ARE READING
The diary of a fiend
Poetry100+ poems that depict the intentions, dreams, and nightmares of a young writer and his battles to control his demons, vises, and life
