Immortal Death
by
I sit in mourning
I mourn the death of my death
I touched it one night
I saw the bright light
brighter than any New York city light
but I was not befitting of its glory
like Romeo from Juliet
it was ripped from my grasp
death did not want me
liberation turned its back
so I sit in mourning
of the thought,
of the death I almost had
Fields of Summer
by
an outcast
a prickly cactus
standing
amongst the smiling blossoms
soft tiny whispers
false hurtful rumors
foolish assumptions
test the stamina of my self worth
But,
betrayed
by yellow sunrays
turned into a deadly killer – scorching heat
delicate blossom petals
wither
thirsty stems
begging
for a drop of heavens tears
I smile
my thorns that once were mocked
ensure survival
my velvet green skin shines
I am
unmoved
Thanks for the kind comments everyone.
Brilliant poetry, so good to read you here.
Thank you Neva :)
This is awesome! Great job!!!!!
thank you so much.
Andrew's retelling of the feminine ritual could come right out of The Feminine Mystique. The question is ownership. If the daughter owns her body, men, and other women, will love it and want to merge with it. If a man or woman owns his or her sexuality as a lifelong gift, it can last for decades. Obviously, the poet succeeded in evoking a collision of worlds and spheres.
Thank you Andrew for your comment. I love to see where my pieces are taken by the reader.