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The flower

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I wrote this poem this summer and I think I should share it with you now, the beginning of December, because this is when the flowers go to sleep. Enjoy!



The flower

By E.S.


Shoots of green burst from the ground, 

brown earth to a landscape of lime and mint, 

growing as far as the eye can see, 

teeming with life. 

And then comes the flower.

From gold to bleached white, 

from indigo to plum red, the flower bursts 

with light and spirit, 

harmonizing to the melody of nature, 

it’s essence the one thing that matters most. 

Rain polishes this flower, and the sun entertains it.

This flower stands alone, 

it’s multicolored wings floating in the wind

decay taking its toll, 

its thorns climbing, 

piercing the flower, 

cherry blood burning down the sides, dripping down

and touching the earth. 

From the blood of the flower grew all the flowers

roses, bluebells, orchids, flew

from the scattered petals,

braving the thorns, 

growing as tall as the sun. 

As they bloomed, the sky filled with color, 

everything lighting up with sheer beauty.


This is the flower.




Comments

  1. AnonymousJune 6, 2022 at 10:29 AM

    Hi! The author here. This poem will be published in an anthology by the telling room called Footprints! Thanks!

    ReplyDelete

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