"I heard her voice today
It is a tune you would pay to play.
She spoke like she sung
Her talk left me hung.
I can name all the words she said
Just let me revisit that part,
and the parts that she maimed
When she saw it fit that her lips part.
I touched her face today
It is a scene you would fancy to play.
It was motionless picture to the eyes,
but my insides were moving like butterflies.
She never moved from my glance
It is a view I would ask for one more chance.
I think I should get my voice right
Everytime she smiles she adds one more line
To this song in my head
That only leaves when I dream.
So many leaves to this tree
That grows to her glow
And bows to her flow."
Her name was Daisy. She was wild. She was wonder. Her name had such power. She was such a flower. She was a source of happiness and he needed nothing less. The wind blew right off her petals. The fragrance spread like leaves in Fall. And Daisy loved all the attention. If sweet was in mention, it was met with a question. She asked about everything. She knew about everything.She fed his soul too well. He feared he might get too full to fill his other well. He had other desires to fulfill but he was always the one to take the blue pill. Happiness is a priority when we live in fear. Michael's life was the longing for the moment he could see her. He counted seconds off the clock. Time sat on him like a block. He wished he had a picture of her but pictures never move like she did. The problem was, when he saw her, he only stood from far
Be it he got close, his brains always chose to forsake. He had millions of things to say but worry held him off . He was lost and he was losing.
YOU ARE READING
Bad Love
PoetryThis story proclaims a singer. Michael is his name. Michael is my name. Keep up, this is a game. The guitar was his fame. He was a sickly lover. Flowers in his lungs grew, butterflies were the flu.
