Burning Flower of Merit

Sometimes you are not quite where you feel that your heart has left you bereft, as though it has entered another living ~

 

~ Burning Flower of Merit ~

  

I am burning, burning with soft, dainty heat-

I am filled with a feminine passion . . .

 

For there is no reason for me to fill,

The softened mold that they have made of me,

For without the intricacies of this centerfold,

The flower cannot sprout from its crest-

And its small top-

Which inches, like a poor spirit, inches and breathes soulfully,

Can never allow itself the pleasure,

Of pressing upon this tiny stem-

Which should make of the tiny little lid,

So plaintive, sad, and white-

A beauty that has not yet been justified.

 

Can you imagine this, could you even fathom this,

What I could place within this face,

Had I the patterns to grace the sides,

Of this loving bulb with lush riches, feminine touch,

The dazzling glow that bring the human eyes to shame-

If only I could touch it-

That feminine potential . . .

Which is inside of my breast.

 

Can you imagine, could you ever fathom,

What this pattern would create for me alone,

Had I the intelligence or,

The beauty and the undying nourishment to fill it?

 

There seems to be no place for such potential here,

But was I strong enough to be this gem I think,

That I would be able to crown my top, with tremulous lace precious,

That daintily grow from within this vase,

In the elegance of a proud woman,

And take away the plain whiteness,

Of this poor, sad, soulful vase-

 

If only,

If only I had the courage-

To come to my own fruition,

But I believe that the passionate heat thrumming within,

My working veins will make out of me-

A flower of merit.