You trace the ridges of the flower.
The sole daisy in this field.
A dot of yellow against a vibrant green.
Your toes burrow in the dirt.
The soil covering your feet.
Feeling cool against the warm sun.
Your hand moves, brushing through the grass.
Pulling some out in the process.
Your board fingers rip out the stalks,
destroying life you can’t hear the scream of,
lazily tearing roots out of the growing ground,
plucking the flower for your own amusement.
Snuffing out the radiant daisy.
I want to go back to that simpler time,
Where we ran through fields and played in dirt,
When we had an abundance of freedom, a million open moments,
When you were a kid,
When you were still learning animal names,
And awed by the world around you,
What did it mean when you looked up,
At other kids, at adults,
Burned at the stake for all to see.
Boo! Scream the crowds, words full of glee.
Smiles lit up the kids faces as they stared at me,
While the witches cried out for a flicker of mercy.
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