There you are,
trading small graces;
cups & saucers
like treaties of peace.
I sit back,
half‑skeptic, half‑believer,
watching this fragile pact
hold for a moment—
an apparition
of simple bliss.
Strange, how it failed
when roses bloomed
too brightly in the garden.
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 2nd, 2025 05:07
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
Another beautiful poem and I may be reading too deep again my friend but aware that the rose is the national symbol for several countries (England, U.S. and the socialist movement in Spain as well as several others) it has been historically associated with wars (war of the roses in England) jailing of socialists that wore the red rose in Spain. A flower of love seen in contention. Where beauty becomes lust and strife disrupting the gentle tea and superficial niceties. China (a homonym) and metaphor for social communication on a formal and civilized format does not last long when the flowers in the garden bloom too brightly. How is that for a cornball interpretation?
Oh wow! That is quite interesting to think about and a valid projection, my friend. This is a reworking of an old poem written before I turned 13 about the dissolution of my parents’ marriage, along with others from friends and classmates families.
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