Dayflowers

As I float further and further away
In the limitless outer limbs of the void,
I appreciate more the little things
Rooted close to my grimy, grounded heels,
Such as: these perky, pretty blue faces
That crowd in the margins of overgrown yards.
Serene and uncomplicated by bias,
They reach in the heat while turtleheads wilt.
Yellow-dot dainties, you know I respect
Your wordless opinions,
And so I solicit your help in these matters:
Should I let midnight rainstorms shatter me,
Should I let skeptical second thoughts batter me
With downpours of unfounded "then agains?"
Then again . . . to get to the actual point . . .
Those whom I loved and those who said
They loved me in turn, did they speak sincerely?
Were their hugs and caresses true affection,
Or mimicry learned from debonair actors?
Was I ever loved? Or is love a hoax,
A perpetual perpetration against me--
A gullible, fallible, foilable fellow
Who never follows a pre-approved script?
Enlighten me, dayflowers, you who grip
The solid, insightful, practical earth;
Have I been duped? Or should I not ever,
Come low hell or high, try to separate
Performers from the roles they assume?