Black Bloom

The moon will guide you through the night with her brightness, but she will always dwell in the darkness, in order to be seen. ~ Shannon L. Alder

She wore the night

in velvet gowns

embroidered with stars,

a black bloom

with the moon

anchored

in her soul.

 

Her path was strewn

with brambles and briars,

tangled with thorns

that tore

at the hem of her dress.

 

She walked onward,

crushed the blades

beneath her,

gave her gaze to no one,

wrapped the wind

around her

until her flesh and bones

were air.

 

Her skin was of ashes,

her eyes full of smoke,

and she smelled of

patchouli and myrrh.

 

The vellum of life

promised her nothing,

but she didn’t cry.

 

She slipped into the cosmos

of hollowed-out dreams

and tear-born streams

and offered herself

in trade for the

suffering inflicted.

 

There is no justice

save for the rising

of a black bloom

burned beautiful

by fire.

Author's Note

Reviews

[Patricia Wedel]

A tragic ending when smoke pours from lost love … wrapping the Wind around her like a Black Bloom. Your poetic persuasion against an overcast Moon 🌖 leaves a deep Crater in the Earth below. Deeply, Pat

[emmajoygreen]

There seems be so little left for those less than were or had. Sad fact and inconsolable for life on. Hope and strength diluted, plugs removed from the heart's four chambers. Yet, your beautiful woman is less, yes, but stands like a rooted being as if waiting for colour to reach its blossom.

' She walked onward,
crushed the blades
beneath her,
gave her gaze to no one,
wrapped the wind
around her
until her flesh and bones
were air.'

Can happen that what was is overcome by its memory plus present form, the whole can become mystical, far reaching.. endless. Your writing always touches.. even the less vulnerable, Linda. Hugs.

Music somehow combatative onwards.

[William Michael Reeves]

I want to think of her as a reluctant empath. Absorbs the suffering which then absorbs her. Takes her light and she is destined to always be the darkness. The ash of memories. But she accepts her fate and in that acceptance becomes beautiful. Good poem.

[willweb]

That was amazing, the thought, the theme and the poem, all combine into one mesmerizing piece of writing. Loved this Linda Marie.