Untitled Poetry

In fields of daisies and daffodils,
we are nothing more than weeds.
In summer's grace, we are the rainy days.
Our very existence is against the grain.

We ponder at the skies,
wondering what they have destined for us,
praying it's something greater,
a meaning that transcends our pain. 

We sit by ourselves, isolated,
watching time wind by in the blink of an eye,
attempting to hold on to the twists and turns,
the unforgiving and the unrelenting. 

We keep things hidden within ourselves,
terrified by our lack of vulnerability.
A shadow shell buried in reflections.
Gasping for connection,
reaching for affection.  

We are nothing more than boats wading in the current.
Waiting for the storm to pass.
And all we hope for is better weather.

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