A Valley of Daises, Inflamed

A rippled surface, light green
Value greater than a face.
Your complexity, serene-
There, but gone without a trace.
Five frigid winters roll by,
Nothing but infinity ahead.
Your eyes, trapped in the sky,
But they’re already dead.
A sparkling white canvas,
Beaten away by the wind.
With no eyes on yourself,
Who cares if you’ve sinned?
So if the rain falls late Aprils,
Cycling gardens follow suit
An unstable love, held by staples
Never planted,
A broken root

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