Moor blossom

The passion of your love
is like a flower in the whirlwind
outcast and without protection
and the loneliest flower in the world
in furious beauty of resplendent glow
of warming tenderness and infinite melancholy.
Will it survive the storms and hibernate
in splendid isolation without being plucked,
or will it be collected, saved and cultivated,
or will it just wither, wasted and forgotten?
No, you will not wither, you will always be the same
in furious glow of melancholic splendour,
the most energetic force of love of all,
outshining all the overwhelming grimness of the moor
the more enduring for the more it hurts and suffers.

Poetry by Christian Lanciai The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 337 times
Written on 2015-10-29 at 19:50

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Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
Very nice indeed.

I like this poem a lot. very well written

Christian Lanciai The PoetBay support member heart!
Thank you, Josephus. It was intentional, of course.

josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
You have used "furious" twice n this poem to startling effect. That usage implies to me in this instance, a fight for survival. Well written