Birth-day

Just another shadow on the landscape
Just another poet puking death
Just another moment not to notice
The writing on the wall and in your head

Creeping from the cave of my sick comfort
In the day, I wander fields and plant my feet
Making pretty all the weeds, in chains I join them
Until the nighttime falls, and like a villain, I retreat

In summertime the passers by cast an eye and nodded
As though seeing of a vision that they knew
But by Autumn eyes grew tired of strange inertia
In the field that with the seasons nothing grew

Lingering in my longing and my lonely
I begin again each day with my plight
It may look like I’m indulging with the daisies
But with each new weed I pluck, I lose more of my sight

It matters not my slow demise will go unnoticed
It matters not that only daisies mourn my death
I paint for me and do not expect to hang for viewings
What is mine, is only mine. Here laid to rest.