I thought I was free
the leaves of a tree, falling
the natural pendulum,
descend
stairs of air.
Over and over, the seasonal vase
breaks, colored boats
of pedals once watered,
devour the sounds of miniature waves,
the melancholy flairs.
I would burn only for a second,
no beauty is so singular
it does not dye black
the soul to hide,
again and again,
the buttons pressed.
Comments
Nathan Bednarek | February 28, 2008 - 13:30
I loved this poem. It really captures the ‘spiritual’ sense of it. A good read! Well done!
Sooz006 | February 28, 2008 - 17:52
My boyfriend often buys me flowers and they don't last half as long as they should because I always forget to change their water and then when they die the stagnant water stinks. .. and something once beautiful becomes repugnant. Your poem brought this to mind. Some lovely imagery in this one. I liked it.