Untitled -- 8.2.2006

A rose is but a seed

transfigured, and love

a many-flowered visage

born of seeds unknown.

And I am just a man,

and you a likeness cast

upon the earth, at times

flesh of my flesh, at times

apart, yet always burning,

striving for a past untold.

What fools were we to miss

the wheel-whirled certainty

of it all: what happy fools,

to find it.

And now, with my last ink,

my last tired glance, I keep

the story fresh: emblazon

this happiness, oh my soul,

and keep it for times

that are, and were, and

yet will be.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

My attempt at a love poem... perhaps a work in progress.

View radanax's Full Portfolio