Burning Flowers

She sits by the roadside,
Tears cascading down her pale face
With flowers in one hand and a lighter in the other
She sets each petal aflame
Eyes stone cold she stares at her deed
Watching flames rise and fall
Until all that is left is ashes
Farewell, farewell, she murmurs
As she throws the ashes to the wind
A sacred rite to end this love
She'll not be enchanted again.

Reviews

[Eclipsing Moon]

hmm, did you miss a thought here?.."I want to stop and ask her,????
but ".....traffic doesn't seem to interfere;with her process....why do you not stop and ask?the question is unspoken?

[Siddhartha]

Oh, sometimes the magic is in asking questions rather than answering them. Answers rob them of their mystique and this poem is a wonderful testament to that.

[.......]

late at night, by the roadside?
Is this some ritual or sacred rite?
I want to stop and ask her,
but traffic doesn't seem to interfere;

I so-loved this part,
This write really tugs in a way.
Sure makes one ponder.
Amazing write.