Flower and Spirit

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In the first rush of spring when a flower blooms, bring a light to the gloomiest place.

A spirit sees the flash and forgotten passion wakes, like a dream moving through space.

The gentle rose, a scent you long to kiss, a petal you await it’s soft caress.

Smile and the sun shines, a moment of succor in the swirling, unending distress.

Every sight brings a sigh, a whispering like a breeze in the patter of rain.

Tears from the heart, tremors inside, longing for the flower to ease the pain.

The light flickers, the gloom resumes it’s steadfast embrace.

The spirit hungers for the flower, while rose spotted red, the dream darkens like space.

The rose lashes with thorns, whip the flesh, ripping, never the soft caress.

A frown strikes faster, the smile becomes a taunt, cascade down the distress.

Each sigh a note of misery, reaching for the slapping petal, drowned by the rain.

A note of disharmony slices through putting teeth on edge, the flower is a blossom in the pain.

But still the flower remains, out of reach it seems, once more, always, and again.

A beauty, a demon, an angel shining brightly, a dragon breathing fire into my sin.

A dream floating freely on an ocean of needles, a lust unleashed from it’s cage now and then.

A pleasure to see, my destruction she be, a notion, a thought, a fantasy, reality death, till I’m freed from my vigil I wait till I know not when.


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