A Dozen Dead Daises

-A Dozen Dead Daises-
by
Keaton Foster



A dozen dead daises
In a field of infinitely many
Some further distance away
There are rows of trees
Impenetrable
Both visually and physically
Beyond those trees is a city
Millions of other people
Dare I say, all of them unaware
Going about their daily drum
From home to work
And then back again
Many of them have families
Realities
And truth be known
Their own besieged dualities
I’d feel sorry for them if I could
But truthfully I cannot
I study all of them because I
Find a way to study everything
It’s just what I do
How I have come to survive
And now I’m here
At ground level
Smelling the grass
Taking in every possible detail
With regard to what is all around
Taking it all in for myself
To be later used as inspiration
Figuring out what I know I can
And guessing at what I don’t know
For a man like me
There can be nothing less
Thus
That is why I have noticed
These
A dozen dead daises
In a field of infinitely many
They are just laying here
On the unrelenting ground
Appearing quite lazy
They are doing nothing
Of any true significance
Weirder still I can relate
Easily I pick them up
I study each and every one
Subtleness is important to me
I wonder what killed them
I wonder who could have
And why they would have
The answer to either
No closer do I know
Separated from the root
I know that they were pulled
Taken from the ground
Ripped free of all defining life
Who could have done it
Again trumps through my skull
Additional preponderance joins in
Why just these twelve
They of course were once beautiful
And now they are just weeds
Just death to be presented
Still they are full of color
I for a second ponder
Why can’t I just replant them
Back into the unreceptive ground
Can I somehow find a way
To do what no god above
Or devil below can do
Can I offer them another chance
Certainly, without question
I cannot
The damage done it too great
It is, as always way too late
Vibrant still
Their predicament is misleading
Because to someone naïve
They would appear alive
But certainly they are not
They are as dead as death entails
They had no chance
The minute they were pulled
From the unrelenting ground
Severed from their roots
They were without question doomed
All twelve of them share
In the fate of each other
What a hell of a thing
All of this, that is
I’m sure that many others
Here in this city park
Would have no real idea
That at their feet was an end
That with some minor prodding
They too could indeed relate with
Am I fortunate to have found them
I’d like to think that I am
What will I do with what remains
Such a decision
Not so easily made
I will carry them quite far away
To a place different in every case
Quickly I'm gone
Leaving a soon to be filled spot
In a field of infinitely many
For a time
Unquestionably empty…


A Dozen Dead Daises
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2013