- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Roses
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Roses...
pale pink
and yellow
white, even mauve,
and blood-red,
the crimson passion of blinding love.
Petals like gemstones
on full display,
wind kissed, sun blest
baptized by dew and rain-fall.
Sweet remembrances
kept between scented paper pages
like lips pressed on lips,
thirsting, honeyed breath
mingling...wanting more,
seeking substance and reason
Un-named and unknown
but oh...so familiar.
Roses and passion
Glorious but fleeting
soon fading, graying….
brittle and torn,
dust between pages
ashen...forgotten.
- COMMENTS
29wordsforsnowalmost 3 years agoAdmitted from afar, growing on their grounds, weathering and their beauty aging - don't they speak of hope in their rosehips; promise rebirth in their stems, and if cut back to a small number of dreaming buds, they return with even brighter beauty?
So, why cut them, and squeeze and shape them to fit the pages?
--
Really liked the allusion, what it means to take too much possession .
Maydaypilotalmost 3 years agoM-
Haunting. Aching. But aren’t roses and passion not meant to be held or possessed? To borrow a beautiful line from your ‘Inevitable’, also published today, “We cannot hold the breaths we take.” I love reading these poems together.
MP
