Whitethorn
By onemorething
Sun, 02 May 2021
- 557 reads
6 comments
Winter prescribes Spring,
in many moons of buds
that open as five-petalled
ghosts of its passing.
Blossom that comes
to smell of death;
sickly, unlucky,
to rot beside spines.
Sweep your temple clean,
though my body never was one;
I am no haven,
and I have never known one.
Mayed, between lost days -
I am vanishing,
I would not know I was here,
but for the pain.
Image is from here: https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Carl_Larsson_-_Girl_by_a_Flowering_Hawthorn_Bush.JPG
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1 User voted this as great feedback
Haunting and transient.
Haunting and transient. Beautiful.
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1 User voted this as great feedback
A poignant and sensitive poem
Permalink Submitted by skinner_jennifer on
A poignant and sensitive poem that speaks from the heart.
Jenny.
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1 User voted this as great feedback
yes, haunting and sad, but
Permalink Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on
yes, haunting and sad, but some beautiful imagery
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