Yoke
stitched like sisters
picking pomegranate seeds
from their hair
let the girls reclaim slumber
in autumn violets, dream
in cedar paths
crush the lilies lest
they possess you, o
great destructor-ess,
allow them the pleasure
of waking before the
burial, before snuffing
out their candles of innocence
for good, let them be
two poppets with chewed upon ribbons,
bound by signs in stars,
imprinted on the susceptible,
flashing in firefly remembrance
leafy garlands on their heads,
eye socket oblivion, limbs
wide open, welcoming, snapping
at the touch of winter wind,
shriveled by spring, dead
by summer, now bathed
in the raw amber glow
Image by Brigitte from Pixabay
“crush the lilies lest
they possess you, o
great destructor-ess,
allow them the pleasure
of waking before the
burial, before snuffing
out their candles of innocence
for good, let them be”
This is so beautiful. 💕
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Thank you so much. I’m glad you enjoy the poem. 💙💙
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WOW. That’s seriously some intense language there, Jenn.
❤
David
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Thanks, David! ♥️
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beautiful writing about some terrifying aspects of time’s transience and mortality
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Thank you!
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There is loveliness and pain here. Like a flower; its fragrance and fading away. This is a beautiful poem!
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Thank you
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My pleasure.
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Absolutely gorgeous language, Jennifer. A lovely write.
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Thanks, Jeff
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