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Roses Amongst A December Of Thorns
December’s thorns
Tear my hand; the crimson
Grip stains these
White-knuckle days
I will not accept this flower’s touch:
The finest china of a terrible sadness
And crushed to powder it becomes shardy
Rendering palms unreadable, unbelievable.
A glide of knives on twisted stems:
Dead stars to holly-hook my flesh.
A sweet scent has turned astringent
A vase of roses left on a bedside table –
Twelve bruised eyes pool in a fractured mirror.
JUst a small typo correction notation.
Nick,
Feel free to delete this from here after you read it. I looked for an email to type this to you. You have a type o in knuckles you might want to fix that so it won't ruin the wonderful flavor of the poetry. I didn't notice it till after I had sent my critique. Just wanted to make you aware of it as you write so beautifully I thought you would want to know if you missed something like that so small. Sincerly Melissa Lundeen.
Oops!
Thanks! How did I miss that?? Lol, the brain automatically corrects it when read I think!!
Excellent,descriptive,so elegant yet resigned..truly magnifique!
THE FINEST CHINA OF A TERRIBLE SADNESS is the best line of this poem I think. I love the construction and cadence of this the most . The poem seems to take on a life all its own. If your love were blood I felt one could see it dripping from your heart as you wrote this. Thanks always for sharing. I always enjoy reading your poems! A sincere fan, Melissa Lundeen...........
Thanks!
Thanks Melissa!
Actually, I wrote this 7 years ago but my editor thought it needed some changes so I pretty much re-wrote it today. I like the way it turned out and your comment means a lot!
Nick