A Posteriori Awakening

I open my eyes to see
but the crest of snow
that surrounds me,
that traps me.

All I can feel
is cold,
which fills my lungs
like poison
that I can’t smell,
because my nose
is too numb.

I cannot stand
getting this false
sense of the world,
my hands
still too numb
to feel anything
as it really is.
The cold has
frozen me over.
Me and Time.

I struggle to hear
something, anything
that will help
me out of this
diluted jail
cell of white.
It’s pointless,
but I had to hear
myself struggle.

Still numb,
then a soft blink.
Sentience dawns
under the orange sun.
Help will come in time.
But right now let me hear the silence.

Lucky Daisy,

always under the umbrella of his good intent.
She smells roses while he walks on thorns.
She samples honey and lets him meet the bees.
Sipping softly, she’ll thank him and repent,
but not too solemnly. Her luck isn’t chance
(and she knows it).

Daisy, like her namesake – the haughtiest
of flowers – only ever looks above,
her lips attracted to the sun.
Earth alone cannot contain her grand dreams.

Pretty Daisy,
forever a victim of his esteem.
She’s her own when the sun shines
and his when bitter moon beams
sully the amber sky.

He bids her goodnight,
tilting her head downward softly.
Not all dreams must be so lofty.