No natural rose,
birthed of palettes,
fails to remind us of its thorns,
whose punctures drain
our lifeblood’s remembering
the pikes and fragilities.
That’s why I saw catgut,
Singing in defiant voices,
With passion and with frenzy.
Staring down down
his hollow eyes,
I exhale scorched breath
into Death’s throat,
and warn him
to be patient
in revealing
his mysteries:
"While you offer
soft promises
of peace and release,
and renewal
of wildflowers
and of grasses,
I will go to
sweet shadows
Only when
I am finished
blooming
and
singing."
My thorns
are not
yet done.
Author notes
Contest: http://allpoetry.com/contest/2404819
1. Picture Credit; emilieautumn2 found on www.skem9.com
2. quotes:
** "Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.” ~Oscar Wilde
** "Long live the rose that grew from the concrete when no one else ever cared." ~Tupac Amaru Shakur
"catgut" n. A tough thin cord made from the treated and stretched intestines of certain animals, especially sheep, and used for stringing musical instruments and tennis rackets and for surgical ligatures.
A contest entry
- Quickie Pic/Quote Prompt Option contest:) by perfectsunset.
475 points, ended May 24, 9 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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Sigh... very lovely indeed! Are our thorns ever yet done I wonder...
This is such a wonderful write!
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thanks Jax. a little gift for Bella. The specters are stared down, until we are ready.
I hope someone remembers that they used to sting violins with catgut. The pix prompt is wild.
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Aww wow, what a beautiful write. I love your imagery and emotion and deep thought. Wonderful take on the quote prompt! Thanks for entering & best of luck
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just an homage to you as you move through the mists.
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