daisy of the black lined plains

Come to me
Sweet child
Daisy of the black lined plains
Beauty of wretched waking hours
Come to me when I sleep
When my brain has agreed to comply
Or my mind has agreed not to fight

Come to me she whispers
Her voice wafts across a many layered reality
She tempts me nearer while shadows protrude from day

Questions halt progress
On knees and forehead to make right what has been wronged beyond repair
Clean torn edges
Scrape dirt from used up yesterdays
Please bring me back my yesterdays

She invites me into her workspace
Walls made of mud
A place you can't help but discover
A slightly less than overwhelming sense
Says you've gotten yourself tied up with something grander than you've allowed yourself to imagine

Blackness that shrouds a moonless night in wonderless mystery
These are the places where questions have no answers
Rather, questions have so many answers
Some good and logical
Some so truly disturbed

That one is compelled not to pose open-ended considerations
But sit quietly
Willingly force-fed
Self hatred
Masked as self righteousness

--Sept 2015
   jitana