A memory of what was Before – poem

Graffiti sprayed on every street and across every heart                                                                                                                                                                    Of every person who lives on the Future Earth

Their souls shivering in tightly- wrapped chains

I pity but give them a wide berth.
I do not want to catch the plague, you see ,
The plague of fear and abnormality
The plague that has been here for decades
The plague of no expressions and brutality

The plague that slinks through the last remaining trees
Slides like a fox through glass buildings that pierce the sky
It’s almost visible to me through the expressions from most people
But they themselves don’t notice the plague, cunning and sly
What am I, you say?
Well I am a many things indeed,
Some call me The Drifter, and others prefer The Light,
But I prefer the Daffodil, as this sounds more precise,
Like a daffodil waving in the wind, brilliant and bright

But really I am a memory put out in between the Earth’s atmosphere and Space
A memory that’s most famous poem, opposite to what it’s like on Earth
A poem so great, so powerful, so peaceful and majestic
A poem called The Daffodils by William Wordsworth
So if anyone cared to stop by out there in the unknown world, And discovered I am here
They would see it and maybe they would wonder
Maybe they would think, and maybe they would disappear…

I look down at me at my bird’s eye view of London and sigh
As I read the first four lines of The Daffodils; “I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats over mountains, vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils.”
I wondered what it would be like to see a field of daffodils again.

“When all at once I saw a crowd, a host of golden daffodils.”

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