poetry

blossom

I yearned for the blossom 
with the clarity of blindness. 
Shame, guised as desire; 
laurel stem of vision’s ideal. No less. 

 Expression of perception fails, now, 
as I recall the fertile flame, 
but have ceased from feeding 
what both burned and drained. 

You uprooted, discarded me 
on fallow ground. Absorbed 
by effervescence; sucked dry by 
the poisons through my core transpired. 

The colour precious; the elegance 
mine. Stagnated. Withered. Blind. 
There is no attainable bloom 
in the rot of consuming foresight. 

Your decay flourished. Yet, I grew. 
Though in every day, you live on; 
as a drop of dew on daffodil, 
reflects the sun and price temporal, 

 I am blossom now and as such I write: 
to reinforce and indite 
the shaking spirit which, I hold true, 
created, transcended and destroyed you.