A story retold

A story retold

 

Behold the flower stooping upon a flower,

The graves and stones are not cold under a warm star.

The metaphor of grief falls from a brown leaf.

A bold kiss locks itself on a pair of faint lips.

They have plucked a flower grown near a headstone,

March is dripping down its earthy green stem, smell it.

Poison hisses but passes the mingling bodies

Death can wait till the renewal terms of their

Ever-changing story. The story is retold

Every day and night rocking upon this planet.

 

 

 

Reviews

[CarrieLynn {Chameleon A..]

wow...a very deep piece! Great Write! :)