Upon a Dead Rose Dying
It’s naught that brought my sad heart here.
It’s to life itself we cohere.
I attest you grew from year to year.
In triumph you would reappear.
In those times ago she was here.
Unbound to her, our deaths, I fear.
Without her craft you’ll not survive.
Without her love I’m doomed to die.
What can be done to save our lives?
Our souls half dead, will we revive?
Her wicked ways marked you to thrive.
Her miracle love kept me alive.
Oh, most withered rose I dread
somehow that we will both be dead.
Nightmares hasten through my head.
Your tainted blossom droops as lead.
Thee, with this knife, I shall behead
I then, to gallows, shan’t be led.
-
Author:
MendedFences27 (
Offline) - Published: June 2nd, 2022 18:34
- Category: Fantasy
- Views: 42
Offline)
Comments4
I well written poem, you can feel the sorrow, the loss. I enjoyed the style as well. A good poem.
Thank you, tallisman. For the feedback and compliment.
Beautiful words Phil.
Andy
Thank you, Andy. So glad you found some beauty in it.
I have .. for as long as I can remember, always found the sight and the thought of dead or dying roses a little disconcerting .. I don't know why exactly but the image or images imprinted upon my mind leaves me feeling more than just a little bit sad ... I dont get the same feeling about any other botanical species ............. AGT's Neville
Thank you, Neville. I think Roses are special among the flowers, what with their thorns and their absolute beauty. They, thus, make great subjects for practicing poets like us.
impassioned, choice wording
a memorable read
thanks for sharing, dear Poet
Thank you, L.B., Glad you enjoyed this one. Thanks for taking time to respond.
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