A Flower’s Lament

Dipped in rosin hue, swell stretching
across the shore, so it would seem I am

more than a heliotrope, more than an earthen star,
more than a body being passed from hand to hand,

fragrant soul being carried to Death’s door.
And once I dreamed

I bloomed in the moonlight; quiet, I became
a wide mawed creature of the deep night, a wide mawed animal

of the darken lore.
And once, I caught a spark

from a flame’s flight, and held it for a day
as though it was my babe to cherish and rise.

And I do rise, rise up
to meet the sky, creep down to greet

the new things nigh, the new things
reaching for their god to at last give birth to them.

And Time does run his boney finger along my hem,
pinches an’ prods at my stem, my narrow torso

green and wishful, wistful thorned and braced.
Braced against the rain, braced against

the baleful breeze and bane; I am trembling
with each fragile, thinly leaf, knowing how short it all is,

knowing how quickly I may be seized.
This is how ugly my beauty is, brief

and cruelly ending.





Wonderful image provided by https://wallup.net – Thank you.

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