Petals

Count away the mystery.

I can only imagine the pain of drowning
Is something so similar to a flower's breath,
Teasing with petals that come only to
The fingers of not many, but few.

Simple enough--I'd pull like I would
If fighting to free the secrets of dreams.
Such secrets come not so easily, no--
The petals stay fastened, they won't let go...

Eight petals, eight petals. I know where this goes.
She loves me, or not, four times flat.
No, I need seven. I cannot have that.

"Excuse me," I ask to a stranger in passing.
"For luck and life, if kindly you would,
Free for me a petal or three
Or five, but one would do just great."
I can't free them yet, but I cannot have eight.

So easily one falls into his hands!
"Thank you, farewell," and to run away, hide,
Just a tad bit baffled, he left behind.

Please, now set free your secret to me!
With seven dewdrops now flowing in breeze
My fingers, so shaky, set ready to count
Away with the mystery to which she is bound.

Still her pages stayed in place, alive...
Gently, sideways, even with only one eye,
Now none, nor my toes, nothing freed to me
The petals that sat to count away
A lonely boy's worries; I wonder, should I pray?

No, Mother has not time for games.
Left alone, I'm left to play the riddle.
How to set free this mystery that
For all of me, stands answered, but if I could just let
The petals make certain, make certain of that.

Leave it to the breeze to hint me a song
What's left of a question if the answer I know?
Just a riddle, just a riddle, that now I see.
The stranger knew nothing, the petal came free.

I know, or so think, and the petals hold tight.
I know nothing, old fool--and then right in my hand
Fell seven lovely petals. I was wrong, I was right.

Author's Note

"The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool." -Shakespeare, "As You Like It" Act V

Reviews

[D]

Your adherence to form never ceases to amaze me.

Not that I don't think you are capable. You just make it feel right. I rarely write form poetry because I sort of naturally unorganize things in my head. I like the disjointed feel of stilted lines. There is something spiritual about them. Here, you make form work. Rhymining couplets at the end of most of the stanzas? Very nice. This poem doubles as a spoken and written piece. I really, really like that you concentrate on the petals of a flower in this poem. Petals rarely represent anything beyond love these days, and I think you turn an old romantic stand-by on its head.

Here is what I'm really curious about, though. Your use of the number seven is frequent. It obviously has significant spiritual implications. But I'm not so sure any of the stock seven (seven deadly sins, seven heavenly virtues, etc.) make sense to me. You've embedded some numerology in that flower, and I'm not sure which established "seven" I agree with.

[Jess: ~The Sidekick~]

I love the rhythm Andrew! It's wonderful. Very catchy.. and the words create an eloquent visual to boot. =) Great read darling.

[Nay]

Sometimes the "Eight petals..." part gets stuck in my head, and I catch myself humming its tune.

[Tai Chi Italy Take Two]

A fascinating read which took me back to doing just that as a young girl! He loves me, he loves me not! let us hope for an odd number indeed, thirteen is mine.....great work, good to read you, LLB