I step out... Between man made Amber street lamps
And natures midnight blue, still life.... crisp, dampness
Not a soul to hamper, mood nor thought.
Moments before witching hour... Solitude
Strokes
My bitter twisted mind plus soul...
Walking
Waltzing internally through thoughts fields
And daffodils
Barely a murmur
They shiver softly (as I do)
In a
Cool
Crisp....
Mad march air
Cream
Eerie...
Negative heads bowed, both they and I
Are as night time hoodies, shrouded within
Noir prison bar petals
We are akin. The nightime daffodils and I
Skulking in the shadows unnoticed by all that pass
We like it that way... The only difference between I and them
Tomorrow....
They shine outside, tempt bees and eyes
Then smile in the glory
Of day...
proud daffodils by day lift their faces to the light, especially liked the beginning of this poem
The hooded reference is a great simile. The sad comparison of hidden and outward beauty are what keeps us prisoners. Flowers are ephemeral, beauty fleeting, but we are sad and may carry it for a very long time but conceal our inner beauty. We done.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yes.We may be unnoticed but the morning flowers allure us.You seem to have a special liking for daffodils as I do.I loved your thoughts and presentation. Thanks and best wishes.