I love sunflowers... Right now, there is one on my desktop.
Drawstring hours of sunshine
breaking through the cumuli and
reaching out to warm a shorn
sunflower. It isn't my place to
release the blossom from its misery.
Obstreperous storms carry far the
alluvium from my playground,
sweat, blood and tears reforming
as great sunflower heads.
The soil holds memories, no
matter where it goes. Everywhere,
there is a little bit of me, a
small piece of my soul, scattered
like eggshells in a child's treasure box.
Am I still the possessor of my soul?
I asked the sunflowers. They just turned
away toward the sun. Maybe, it was
the hour. Maybe, it was the truth.
Poetry by Arti
Read 631 times
Written on 2007-08-10 at 07:11
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Drawstring hours of sunshine
breaking through the cumuli and
reaching out to warm a shorn
sunflower. It isn't my place to
release the blossom from its misery.
Obstreperous storms carry far the
alluvium from my playground,
sweat, blood and tears reforming
as great sunflower heads.
The soil holds memories, no
matter where it goes. Everywhere,
there is a little bit of me, a
small piece of my soul, scattered
like eggshells in a child's treasure box.
Am I still the possessor of my soul?
I asked the sunflowers. They just turned
away toward the sun. Maybe, it was
the hour. Maybe, it was the truth.
Poetry by Arti
Read 631 times
Written on 2007-08-10 at 07:11
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
