Daisies, Love, and Suicide

daisies In the dream, under sleep of Full Moon,
There was an owl, eyes unblinking
As the soul does not ever blink or die—
Flying over wide garden of the world,
Eden filled with dazzling blossoms,
White flowers by thousands blazing open,
Petals proclaiming “He Loves Me” or
“He Loves Me Not”.

As I walked though such beauty,
Each flower I picked a chance,
Plucking petals as I dismantled blossoms,
Diminished splendor
As I pulled apart by odds and ends.
Which among us knows
Where game of numbers leads?
He Loves Me or He Loves Me Not?

To subdivide one’s life to two may be sin,
Wanting to know where it leads or ends,
Petals tossed to wither upon the ground,
Hoping one sturdy flower would come out even—
Yield such games of plucking beauty,
Prove, reveal, validate such lasting love
That darkest mind would see great light.

And if I take one flower and owl,
Climb to highest mountain
Overlooking wide valley of my life,
Look over edge of cliff and pluck
Until every petal is released,
Only bare stalk remains in hand—
What then of mind that loses all?

As last petal falls, blown by
Strong wind of fate or God,
What then if He Loves Me Not?
Would the game that ends so badly
Compel the final leap to death,
Destroy in one final plunge
Heart that holds more beauty
Than any flower of meadow’s seed?

To live and know that Love is Not,
I might and yet I might not
Win to fight against myself,
Plunge to end while asking mercy,
Compelled by yearning, gaping end,
Checkmate the game and clear the board,
Pray to start again in yet another garden
Where flowers bear only even numbers,
White petals dazzling in the sun.

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