Poetry: For Flowers That Die

Blossomed in a lone cave.
Known to all as a slave
Of emotions and self,
Just another sad elf
In the hands of a knave.

Knowing not what to crave
For she was never brave;
Hid herself in a shelf.
… a lone cave

Her roots became life’s lave.
Make her petal’s ash save
Just a beautiful delf.
“I do miss her, myself”
You’ll read too in the rave.
… a lone cave.

Emny Circuit.
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Petals of a wrinkled feeling,
Broken from a want of healing.
Leaves letting their waters break,
To bathe life for goodness sake(s) –
Destroyed along with reason.

Summer is always dreaming.
Spring does blossom in meaning.
Autumn comes with nights at stake.
Petals.

For flowers that die bleeding,
This is a tree appealing:
Quit giving, begin to take.
Cuts will hurt, avoid the rake
Don’t stem and die a seedling.
Petals.

Leonell
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Life began here, a lonely seed,
usually covering the deed.
It dragged the issues of the earth
whenever seeds try to rebirth.
We started a flowery breed.

Our petals will touch, we agreed
No more pains showing to concede
These dirty roots will be the worth
Life began here.

Our stems will find the food to feed,
Flowers will feed from love and greed.
It will dance and be in the mirth
It will hold the sun and its girth.
Death hung on its neck like a bead.
Life began here

Ruddapoet
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This piece is for the flowers that died
A wreathe weaved from the tears that I cried
The liquid threads of sorrowful angst
Washing emotions of painful pangs
I do miss how your hands on me lied

The petals of warmth thick as a hyde
Perusing all through my person wide
It is in you that my joy doth hangs…
The flowers that died

As thou art no more, where do I glide
For the fragrance I loved to confide
Now with you gone, my heart all but bangs
Biting reminiscence with the fangs
Of wishful thinking that won’t subside…
The flowers that died

Snizel