He Loves Me Not




How do you know someone loves you?
By their actions?
Through their words?



Or like him,
Who picks a flower out of the garden
And picks the petals from it,
Doing an old tradition of
“She loves me, She loves me not.”



I met him, in the most empyreal day of my life
He found me and chose me
Among all the same flowers around.
He grasped me between his hands
And I felt so very special.



Suddenly he removed a petal from me
While saying the words, “She loves me.”
And then another petal, “She loves me not.”
Picking the petals off me
Alternately saying those two sentences
Which seemed to be the greatest power of love.



He kept on repeating, and I was there
Silently listening
Until only two petals were left on me.

“She loves me.” He said, then picked one petal.

“She loves me not.” And removed my last petal

I saw my reflection on his eyes.
They were shining perhaps because of the collected tears.
I looked so helpless, I couldn’t recognize myself as a flower anymore.



Without speech or action,
I looked at him, and saw how broken he was.
Then after that, he let go of me, while I was slowly dying upon the green grass.
I looked at the petal he tore from me and with his face on my mind,

“I love him. He lovs me not.”

*Ashe




Poetry by Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 421 times
Written on 2016-06-03 at 22:20

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Deeps
Beautiful usage of the metaphor flower. Yes a flower indeed.
A flower in full blossom.
Plucked and picked
But always a flower
Bearing within itself
The beauty all encompassing
2016-06-05


Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
This is one of your best. What a callous tradition that is when you think about it. Dismembering a poor flower for our own insecurities. Your piece does what all good poetry does, it makes us think. Extremely well done :)
2016-06-04


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
This is excellent, Ashe.
2016-06-04


Ivan R
Heartbraking, beautiful, sad. Such pain it is to read about love dismanteled, yet, asking: " is love still there?"

I am positive it is there ... even though the bastard was so blind to see what his actions lead to, and the hurt he caused by his being nonchalant, careless, stupid and deaf. Great poem.
2016-06-04


one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
This is a truly beautiful poem with a profoundly apt conceit. It is also a truly sad, heartbreaking, poem. It is your poem, but you've made it a poem for anyone who has been left "dying upon the green grass."
2016-06-03


Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Oh, so hard and tragic, I could feel as I read my petals being plucked and the soul of me oozing, beautiful, tender in that of sadness for those things invisible yet lost

Elle x
2016-06-03