wallflowers grew,
seeded freshly in young
mothers' stomachs
until the day that
She Herself
with her matronly shears
created her flora,
a bulb of blood and flesh
and I wished
--tears from the soil,
that night--
that the birds could love by themselves
courting the world, bigger than what
a single wing could wrap
fragile fibers around
and tie it tight.
I never knew Mother's
mystique; a wallflower can
admit that
and recoil tight
against Her spine
while we rejoiced
in Innocence
fragile as our bodies
stuck to the walls,
loving without knowing.
Author notes
True knowledge exists in knowing that we know nothing - Socrates
A contest entry
- Best All Round Poet 2007 -- Round 1 (INVITE ONLY) by xxRainbowDawnxx.
300 points, ended April 26, 2007, 17 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
...
Comments
-
It is but such a true phrase, we know nothing and to know that, we are not idiotic and we actually do know something in a way, that we know nothing. Well done on the depth.
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