Black Bloom

The moon will guide you through the night with her brightness, but she will always dwell in the darkness, in order to be seen. ~ Shannon L. Alder

She wore the night

in velvet gowns

embroidered with stars,

a black bloom

with the moon

anchored

in her soul.

 

Her path was strewn

with brambles and briars,

tangled with thorns

that tore

at the hem of her dress.

 

She walked onward,

crushed the blades

beneath her,

gave her gaze to no one,

wrapped the wind

around her

until her flesh and bones

were air.

 

Her skin was of ashes,

her eyes full of smoke,

and she smelled of

patchouli and myrrh.

 

The vellum of life

promised her nothing,

but she didn’t cry.

 

She slipped into the cosmos

of hollowed-out dreams

and tear-born streams

and offered herself

in trade for the

suffering inflicted.

 

There is no justice

save for the rising

of a black bloom

burned beautiful

by fire.

Author's Note

Reviews

[William Michael Reeves]

I want to think of her as a reluctant empath. Absorbs the suffering which then absorbs her. Takes her light and she is destined to always be the darkness. The ash of memories. But she accepts her fate and in that acceptance becomes beautiful. Good poem.

[willweb]

That was amazing, the thought, the theme and the poem, all combine into one mesmerizing piece of writing. Loved this Linda Marie.