tagNon-Erotic PoetryWhere Honeysuckle Climbs

Where Honeysuckle Climbs

byUnderYourSpell©

There's flower's corpses strewn on windowsill,
where honeysuckle climbs the garden wall
embracing vines into the hearth and home,
brings sweetly scented blooms, that shower all
along the ledge, in massed profusion laid.
Alas, there also crawling on her leaves
are those whose fleeting lives can't long be lived
than in that now lost freedom, open air,
the woodbine scorns, each wasted and bereft.
Lonicera not now so sweet who brings
the butterfly, beating her fragile open wings
frantically on closed window panes,
proboscis curled, and drunk from honey.
Wilfully perverse and vines entwining
glorying in your own beauty, heeding not
how when you run amok, a life must pay
the hardest price for your unchecked revelry.
The butterfly now rests and folds her tiring wings,
does she gaze on the world no longer hers to own?
This beauty hides her death. No longer sweet.


Poetry Survivor
Blank verse Trigger 31

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