These Old Flowers

What is want but

a bone of contention,

what is lust

but the salt of the sea

what is this

lonely connection between

the thud of desire,

and the thump of reality;

Every new beginning is

like a rose, starts as a

bud, grows fat and

beautiful, bloats

and dies,

so gather and burn

these old flowers

as a way to

say goodbye.

Reviews

[R.E. Ray]

I read this one several times. The first time it ended with a dull thud. Then, I found more in the second and third reading. At first glance, this is a depressing poem. One might say, "a flower is like us... it's born, it's cut, it dies, it's thrown in the dirt." But, then... sometimes it's a fresh start. We have so much control over what's in our lives, and especially how we respond to it (good and bad). I get the sense at the end that the speaker knows the old must go to welcome the new life, color and aroma.. flowers and love.

[JR]

Cyclical, like all things. Nothing is permanent, nothing is forever. Even the cycle of love is the same. Good to hear from you buddy.

[R.E. Ray]

True! Good to read your work again. I'll be back for more.