Dying Blossoms
In the prime of my youth I tied the knot
with a creation full of life.
Like a crape myrtle tree by a stream of water,
this beauty was my wife.
Over the years the leaves withered;
the blossoms fell to the ground.
I'd dutifully applied strong pesticide
to each little speck I found.
I looked across the bounds of the knot
to a new plant in full bloom;
but how would it flourish in the treacherous dark
of my cold heart's dull, bleak room.
My love stayed home in reality;
but in my mind rarely ceased to roam.
The frail, little crape myrtle grew briars.
Now I walk through life alone.
I'm cleaning my room and making it safe,
all the pesticide thrown away,
and I hope for a knot that will never break,
as I condition myself each day.
3-7-93
By ArtisticPoet48
© 2008 ArtisticPoet48
(All rights reserved)
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