Deadened Roses

 

~ Deadened Roses ~

 

I clenched to my hands thickets,

that grew through the vicious cracks,

but was unable and deficient,

my hands creaked over the vines,

as they curled with pain-

around each dried up shred,

draping thickly o'er her living-

design she'd ornately set-

the house so beautiful-

that could not flourish,

without its cast . . .

 

the cracks shivered beneath my touch,

but for me I'd only-

begun to kiss,

the sweet memories so nice-

pure as roses-

those I touched,

until at last I realized-

my own weeping hands-

now dried with blood,

were actually touching roses

from vines that lay now dead,

and my thoughts diminished . . .

and the sweet tinge faded,

from all the light,

of the once lived Lady-

the houses' cast.

Reviews

[David Scott]

A death before its time...
I loved the first lines of the second stanza. I could feel the desire to live and love. Then you show the realization the soul has yet to accept.
The title was interesting to me as well.
Not "Dead", but rather "Deadened". Interesting concept. Even if you simple said, "She held the Deadened Rose" and nothing else, you would be challenging the "normal" context.

I like the pattern of thought. Consistent and not the same old kick of a dead horse.
Good job here! Actually great!

[Foxemerald]

Thank you for your substantial thoughts on this piece, which I wove rather spontaneously. The moment however, the spurred me through to write it was deep and melodramatic, so I am glad that the emotional context was portrayed, and that the thought pattern served to stimulate you in the intended way- I appreciate your perspective.