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
BARB
Bardouble29 (aka Barb) has always loved to write. Writing has proven to be a way to deal with the tough parts of life. Her poetry tends to be a little on the dark and sad side. She loves making words come alive. But she can be known to throw in poems of other venue.
5 comments:
I love this poem...is speaks of love in its purest form.
Thanks.
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.
Good, Eric. That is exactly why I thought of flowers. I was thinking of the ones that grew in my yard at the time.
a lovely metaphorical description of love.
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