Grey field laid out beyond my eye’s own scope
The grass beneath my feet crunches, cracks
I look up, skyward, seeking without hope
But how did I come here, where life but lacks?
Ahead: a blinding light upon a stone.
A daisy petal lingers, life still glows.
It tortures us, the grey-dwellers- alone.
Who put it there, who left it, taunting us?
I run towards the petal: no avail.
Its stand recedes; it runs from me, too fast
To catch. But I must chase, though I will fail.
The beauty fades, but I must make it last.
The petal hides from me- a spiteful game.
And now I`ve seen it, death won`t be the same.
Excellent, as always! This flows so well that you forget it's a sonnet and get caught up in the surreal moment you've captured. I see the scene in a sort of blur as the narrator runs (if the dead can run) towards the gentle, provocative little petal that symbolizes so much in your poem's grey world. Again, bravo!
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