I picked a twisted flower in
an unkempt garden.
I kept it for a while.
Without roots, the flower
didn't last. I barely did.
There were many
flowers in my younger days.
I loved picking them and
keeping
them close.
In the end, they
all died or blew away.
I felt empty, blood moon
sad.
Such a young fool in
those sizzling summer
nights.
Flowers make terrible
gods.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 16th, 2025 08:01
- Comment from author about the poem: My recently published books are available on Amazon.\r\nSeedy Town Blues and It\\\'s Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse\r\nhttps://www.amazon.com/Its-Just-Skip-Jump-Madhouse/dp/B0DY4XDQYC/ref=
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 61
- Users favorite of this poem: aDarkerMind, Tristan Robert Lange, Mutley Ravishes, Alan R
Offline)
Comments10
another fine write Thomas, as always.
Thank you, my friend.
A great metaphor here Thomas. Whether gods or lovers the same applies, without roots nothing thrives.
Thank you.
Wonderful dear Thomas. 🌹
Thank you, sweet Teddy.
Wonderful write, everything needs strong roots survive, enjoyed the read
Thank you.
You are very welcome
Pure brilliance, Thomas! A wonderful poem and perfect metaphor! The last line delivers so well! Wonderful job, an easy fave! 🌹👏
Thanks.
Thanks
You are most welcome!
They may not make gods but they can make wonderful memories Thomas.
Andy
Thank you.
Eternality is not the flower’s best suit, it would seem. 🙏🏻🕊excellent read🕊🙏🏻
Thank you.
You’re welcome Thomas 🕊🙏🏻
Nicely done, Thomas. A great write. Works on several levels.
Thanks, my friend.
You are truly such an amazing poet! Amazing write
Much appreciated. Thank you.
Hauntingly beautiful
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