In This Field Of Violets

A black and white
photo of
a thousand violets
holds a lot
of sincerity.

It reminds me
of myself-
dull, immature
but writes
about Daffodils.

I drown
relentlessly
to the
memories of you
while staying
sleepless.

What if
crimson tears
flow down
from this
lifeless body
that birthed
the promise
to only write
for you?

Will you
be there
to remind me
that everything
will be alright
when wishes
are made
the time
a calm wind
mirrors the
pain in my heart.

In this
field of Violets,
serenity becomes
too cliche
to be experienced,
loneliness just sounds
like the
buzzing monotone
of the bees,
and you are
a shooting star,
a text message
that is missing
some texts.

These Violets
sing the words
of a letter
that I left
two tranquil days ago
when you painted
a portrait
of the girl
you love.

I apologize...

for all I write
is imperfect metaphors.

I know
my poetry
will never bring
real smiles
on your face,
and will never
light up
the candle
that melts
within your shadows...

for all I write
is words
that hold
no meaning.

But a Violet
with fading colors
told me
that everything
I write
will always
be nice
when it
comes from
my heart.

A new promise
is born...
and that is
to always write
from my heart.

(Little does
everyone know
that this world
is a field
of Violets)