I am a flower, seated on a stalk, a pedicel, wistfully away
From you. The wind caresses my corolla, reminding me of
Your touch. I speak a flower's prayer, a litany to gain you
Back. My perfume is a yearning, my crimson a passion.
I long for you, King of Aranea! But lo! Your touch is cruel,
Your looks scorn. My countenance falls, afraid and shy.
You cut my stalk, leave me to bleed. Blood adheres to
Every surface. My heart I pour out for thee! You looketh,
Again with contempt. What crime I committed, I know
Not, but thy condescending look is too hard for me to take.
Soon, I die and w i t h e r away.
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𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚: 𝐀 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧│✔
الشعر❝In the death of me, I found solace. ❞ What readers say: "Starkly honest, seeing the naked soul of your own, relishing the sorrows of being alive." "A mystic poet is born!" "Keep it up. Keep being alive. Keep writing." Poetry of the past of me. Lyr...
