Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Flowers

I dreamed you were my private flower,
close to my breast, you knew
my heartbeat, my thoughts, my sins.
You forgave me everything with your
delicious spice that enfolded me in the
greatest love I have ever known.

Flowers forget the end to eternity;
they breathe life into stale air.
You breathed into me; your inhalation wove its
way into endless weeds that clouded my mind,
making me clear and whole again.
How can I not love you for that?

Yes, I do. But the truth of love lies only
in flower beds, tended like children. My love grew wild;
more weeds clutter us. Now I know that
fragrance is transitory, like love you share that
later wilts in the winds of winter that says the end.

Written by Cruel Virgin

5 comments:

Bardouble29 said...

I love this poem...is speaks of love in its purest form.

Enemy of the Republic said...

Thanks.

eric1313 said...

Again, the growth of love. Not to mention that cut flowers are a mixed symbol: they symbolize love, and at the same time they are dying from the act of cutting. How many relationships have come back to life by the simple giving of these dying symbols of love and life? In that way, they represent sacrifice.

Don't mind me! Good poetry is supposed to make a person think. As a very wise blogger told me: the true judge of a poem is in the depth of interpretation, not in any single meaning.

Enemy of the Republic said...

Good, Eric. That is exactly why I thought of flowers. I was thinking of the ones that grew in my yard at the time.

Unknown said...

a lovely metaphorical description of love.