I long to lay upon a field of daisies, they are my favourite flowers.
I imagine that would be lovely,
skin grazing against a bed of grass,
a soft green pillow to rest my head.
Not in the morning though, no.
But in the quiet hours of the night,
when the sky reveals the ethereal wonders of the world.
And I'm reminded that I am but a spec,
in this infinitely vast universe.
When the stars will dance,
flickering and sparkling putting on a show for me.
And I will be in awe,
knowing that they have probably long burnt out,
some many lights years ago.
And I'll whisper dark secrets to them,
sorrows and despair,
tell them all the words of a heart broken.
And it will not have mattered,
because they are dead.
