yellowrose

lying hands and the well intentioned fingertips

I am the moon

sometimes i think of myself as a white rose bud

amidst a ever expansive sky

a splattering of black paint around my centre

and i am lost

standing forwards yet pulled backwards

there are hands against my silk back

which gently stop me from bumping backwards

and they never let go

I can feel a slight tug behind the tip of my stem

and i know i should turn around

now overwhelmed

black paint splatters from the tip of a paintbrush

everything intentionally made of the colour black

the palm lingering, holding me in place

keeping me from falling, reverting

feels so nice, protective and ever so safe

oh, but what if my senses deter me?

the gentle hand which feels comforting

is deceiving my inner spirit

and speaks to me of a lie

my satin skin is now aligned with a cunning storyteller

telling me tales, nice words and nice feelings

warming palm against my ever satin skin

I can feel and hear a slight tug

at the tip of my tail

reminds me of when i was hurting

released from the tender ground

nails of fingertips are accidentally

hurting my soft and green skin

pulling slightly, hurriedly and with urgency

I hate the inconsiderate tugging

and yet the holding still soothes me

and even though i am hating the black

and wishing i could leave

the lying hands keep the subtle pressure

behind my white satin skin

whilst the well intentioned, annoying fingertips

are scared to strengthen their grip

they want me to reverse, slide on backwards

away from the cunning hands, the dark

but too much tugging and my stem will surely be broken

they leave me standing, floating, sitting

unable to move home

and escape the ever plentiful black

 

Comments4

  • poelove

    that was a wonderful write, I enjoyed the metaphors inside each other -the moon-the rose/your self...a pleasure to read

    • yellowrose

      hi poelove .. thankyou :-)

      • poelove

        your welcome

      • Joe Dawson

        It has been a habit of mine since childhood to use the moon as a sort of solution finder to problems I encountered in life. When I felt lost, alone or facing life's troubles large or small I would fly to the moon and sit on its surface looking back at what from the moon's perspective is a distant blue planet and looking back at the earth see my troubles for what they were e.g. tiny, almost invisible and therefore well within my capacity to correct which I usually did - once having returned to earth that is. A lovely piece which I enjoyed greatly. Joe

        • yellowrose

          hi joe , thats nice :-) i cannot help but love the moon , so pretty but i cannot help thinking it looks ever so lonely . thankyou for reading , glad you enjoyed this :-) to be honest, i think this is about being stuck someone dark with no way to be able to escape , that hand pulling at the flowers stem wants to help the flower into the light but the hand at the petals back will not let this happen , two hands, two opposites, one nice but a bit careless and the other feels nice but is a lyer and will do anything to keep that flower there, and deceive it .. scary , right lol ? its not nice to feel trapped and scared , lost alone and in the dark

          • yellowrose

            i meant * somewhere * not someone ..

          • LukeCoomer

            Very creative

          • kevin browne

            your work, your poetic philosophy and you are something the world needs. your work is outstanding and the world needs to notice you as the thoughtful poetess that only greatness brings. it's a breath of invigorating inspiration ton read you from head to toe. keep them coming, little one x

            • yellowrose

              such a kind and supportive comment :-) thankyou very much !



            To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.