With faded glory, the wet cement lies,
muddied and spewed with gutter waste;
cracks like spidery webs lining the gray, and
moss with soggy tendrils inching forward.
The flower, an ingénue weed of great singularity,
reaching its golden head to the fleeting sunlight,
hoping for one ray to dry its sodden leaves,
and bidding the rain adieu.
Despite the chill and temperate loneliness,
the blossom will cling to the side of the road,
gripping the cement with open palms,
and clinging to life with a grand bravado.
As if to sing, “I’ll be here forever,”
“when the night grows feral and bitter,
I’ll be here.”
And the flower breathes in life.
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
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125,008 Literary Works • 672,828 Reviews
Blahh. Editing can be very obnoxious.
D:
haha, chatting it up in the poetry forums. I'm good. just taking a break from book edits.
Hi! I'm...fine, a little bored. You?
just very, very wordy. what is the point of elaborating for that long about a weed? the title and those sentences would be fine. (grand sentences, though!)
how are you?
and hello!
Thanks, Mist. Yeah...it's just describing a plant clinging to life on a road...but I can see how it would be prosey.
I absolutely adore this, and the title. The rest, alas, is too prosey and wordy for me. I actually didn't understand what was going on.
Haha thanks. Actually I was looking a pic on Flickr for inspiration, and a weed/flower thing by the roadside popped up.
I'm not sure what I think about this. On one hand, the imagery was beautiful, on the other, I didn't like it a whole lot. This could be because I'm not big for nature poetry, so don't blame yourself, hee hee. It was very well written though--but for me it didn't do anything.
You could say I'm neutral on it?
EDIT: Er - then again looking at the title, if one sees that the flower is a weed not a flower you could see a lot of meaning in it. Almost an ugly duckling sort of tale? hmm... I don't know what I'm saying.