The Forest

Flowers melt to acid red--

Dying roses

Lonely blooms underfed.

Their petaled carcasses reek

Soured by the sun,

Emanating the sweetest of odors,

Their eyeless faces

Rendered stiff and glum.

Eventually, only thorned skeletons remain,

Over shrouded by bracken;

Each thorn boasts a point,

Though their hollow stems blacken.

Like guards of a grave

Keeping watch in sensational prudence,

A solemn brigade,

Listening for what goes “bump” in the night.

Lackluster entrails slip from crumpled leaves 

In galvanized movement,

Rotting beneath the trees.

At last, parched cellulose

Falls to the ground;

Reclaimed by the earth

Neither Heaven nor Hell bound.

Physical beauty breaks--

It cracks in the light.

However, internal beauty remains strong in the roots,

Never to be influenced alone 

By pure, shallow sight.

Reviews

[kheagan]

Woah! That's deep. That's proper. One of the best -if not the best-poem I have read on here.

[Maxwell Ryder]

Wow and what an entrance you’ve made!! Lovely pen here. It was a pleasure to read.

[Sara Brown]

Thank you so much!