A flower by another name

 

I often drift deep

in thought, sleepwalking

through a lavender daydream.

Watching the world dazzle

in the marigold sunbeams.

I sink into the scenery like it is

memory foam. The trees, the greenery,

the stunning sunlight frieze

painted on the wall, the clinging ivy

of thoughts that climbs tall

through the brickwork.

Dancing to the melody of life.

Wistful wisteria twisting around my mind.

 

Day and night, I watch

silently, whilst life flows past,

in chrysanthemum mist,

notepad in hand.

As the sunlight casts

deep shadows across bluebell skies,

those angelica eyes,

and in them

I see primrose growing through

the chasms of darkness.

Evening glows across,

my mind in throes of excitement.

So, I write it all down. A flower

by another name, always ingrained

in my awestruck mind.

 

I frame my days in poetry

lined in limelight soliloquy.

Symbolism seeded

in metaphorical flurries,

a sonnet or an ode, a whisper

or a roar,

a flood or a drought, a storm

or the calm.

 

I live in the woes,

and I rise with the rose,

I flow like fog around the feet,

and I soar like the clouds

as I paint

flowers across the screen.

 

For beauty mimics beauty

and all I see is you,

and you would barely notice,

but I'm there, intoxicated on

the perfumed air, writing poems

hoping for your ears

to hear me breathe.

Whether it be the sunlight

or the moon that sighs

through the leaves.