Day 6: Shackled Daisies

Shackled Daisies

Uneven handed justice strikes those unwittingly

As harsh heavy tides come crashing to shore

To sweep shallow-bathers from their feet.

Sickness could trample the best of men;

A ghostly form that, if its source be sort,

Might glide elsewhere and

Seemingly dissipate –

Only to reform.

Pity those that his merciless crooked hand does touch

For it leaves us naked as a newborn babe

Wanting only to be nurtured by sun and glory

Or swept away by nature’s tears of sorrow.

I look into my mother’s eyes

This morning softly glazed by cruel affliction

Brow raised in childlike wonder

Her face contorted

Willing only for a single rose-tinted droplet

To dissipate the gloom.

Such a fragile Pollyanna

Wrapped in off-white cloth

That, today even more so,

Matches her sallow complexion.

Her vision reminds me of a groggy sailor,

Giddy on his maiden voyage,

Staggering from sail to bower to lean raw-boned o’er board.

Casting his gaze first to search such blue horizon for land’s angled shape

And last, wearily down towards such salty depths;

A darkness reaching up to take all dampened air

From any heavy-chested fool

That dared to saddle such unbridled fury.

 

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