Bloom of the Rose
Thy soule the fixt foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if the’other doe.
Thou art a rose to me, a flower
Most serene, yet thy moments are
Thy own, and unto the fading hour
Thou art, my flower, alone.
For when honest love, sweet passion be
Bestowed upon thy tempered hearth,
No love is found returned from thee,
In words or touch, like honey sweet.
Three petals fall and thou sees death, yet
Our rose thrives true with life, crimson
Petals betray truth, the sweet duet
Of bloom and I are nearly spent.
Poor rose, see sad days of sun and rain,
Thine shadow at my side no more,
Thou art left to life, but to live in vain
As flesh to flush be gone again.
For thou would love only the sun, lest
Shadow darken thy dead roses,
Yet true love be both—a cycle blessed
With dawns to dusks in balance met.
And to its own my life is left, heart
Toiled, the skin sick, long loves set forth,
Bloom of innocence in love depart,
Yet hope retained, shelter in my heart.
In end, nature runs her course, dear Rose
Left lone in repose lives no life,
So seek I blossom, free of thine woes,
Lover of life and bloom of the rose.
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The poem has a little stylistic homage to John Donne, thus the Old English and such.
I've found poetry to be a way for me to express myself, a saving grace, unlike any other.
This poem is about a girl and the love she never let bloom.
I would appreciate any and all comments that would be made, I have some
issues with confidence I guess. She shattered my heart.
)
