Misconception Passes Forgotten

Some days you hold a bed of roses as only a state of mind
Promises seem to be forgotten in drifting pieces
Wondering how absence thinks of ways to make fonder
A heart that watches time burning bridges
With faith that never ceases

So often an eager crowd serves a master of lonely places
You can hear them whispering words of praise
They are swirling in a powerful roundabout of illusion
Spent in rooms where the only way out
Cannot be paraphrased

Some have chosen their scars as seed to plant in rows
Then wonder why their fields are full of pain
Aside from sorrow can you imagine what could dwell
As rows of beautiful flowers in the heart
Where love remains

We hear I am sorry in a moment that passes forgotten
On days when a bed of roses does not exist
Should we choose to serve a master of lonely places
Or plant seeds of forgiveness in our fields
From unclenched fists

 

Reviews

[Bridgid Persephone Newm..]

I plant the seeds and watch them grow, but it's harvest time that I am for
The seed of love that I send out, takes on its own primeval clout
This place that we call Earth, our cauldron
Forge us into gold and all one
Children from a higher place, we choose to rise, or fall from grace
I cry out in the wilderness, those that hear have passed the test
The ones who love against all odds,born as light filled baby gods!

[Mauricio Montoya]

whoa! I like how the words come together in this piece, I can feel it as I read.
Excellent write.

[Cerebriation]

wonderful piece! keep it up!

[Lilly Negoi]

"you harvest what you seed" :) what a wonderful representation of that proverb here! this should be a warning for all who
"...have chosen their scars as seed to plant in rows
Then wonder why their fields are full of pain"
the image of scars being planted is exquisite, dear Neva!!
this poem goes in my shelf!

[SpokenWord]

It is easy to fall into this kind of illusion, as recent as recently I was heading down this path tossing seeds that would only yield sorrow. This happens when we play the roles of victims instead of the role of the responsible it is just easier to close our eyes and place the blame on things outside of us or our control. I think this is why we have friends who are willing to wake us up from the illusion and return us the land of the living where we serve the higher power over any master.

Such a positive write, one that opens the mind to more thoughts and pondering.

[Dinesh Sairam]

The first impression that came to my mind on reading is that, its mix of modern and classic vocabulary and imagery. While I myself haven't done similar, I tend to think, if not classic meter and vocabulary, at least classic imagery suits poetry best. After all, Poetry is about being Beautiful in it's True form.

That said, this very much reminded me of Tagore's poetry. And that's a good thing. He was the Poet Laureate of India once, and has written India's National Anthem. Anyways, his poem, they often have sympathy etched to them, and that's what I find here.. Also, rounded off with controlled pauses (Prosody). I don't know if you did that in purpose, but if you did, then kudos. Handling the pauses is what adds beauty to poetry.

Other than that, the refrain (of roses) is good, and the gentle rhymes too. Then, once again, I'd like to recommend to stick to one kind of vocabulary throughout the poem. Changing between classic (ceases) and modern doesn't fare as much (At least, for me).

My favorite lines:

Should we choose to serve a master of lonely places
Or plant seeds of forgiveness in our fields
From unclenched fists.


Keep writing.

[Forest Green]

Layered with meaning, nicely holding to the poetic inunciation of each thought. The final line is most emphatic that letting go is required for forgiveness to begin and last.

Nice work...

[Judy Ponceby]

This is just lovely Neva. Your words always beautiful and your voice soft and kind.

[Lily Mae]

You never cease to amaze me with your work as always.. it touches my heart and I carry the message with me throughout my days:)xx

[Robin]

there is religion and there is spirit , you have spirit ~

[FJ Davis]

Strangely seductive word groupings, like never-before-seen gems, shaken from a magical velvet pouch. A pouch of cavernous depth.
(Some days, Neva, I recognize my life as merely a state of mind--though it's never been a bed of roses.)
Extraordinary work, Ms. Flores.