Late days
The tulips are in a vase on the table.
Are they staring out at me, accusingly?
I start to get a clue what I could have done wrong.
I have been paralyzed by whatever death means.
The tulips know of what I speak.
It's a telepathy between these flowers and me.
And nobody has any idea what we are
Talking about. It's a sort of schizophrenia.
The private lives of the tulips correspond.
I wish away the arrival of my senses come too
late.
You take a breath and the perfume goes in,
Lights throughout your body.
This is not the conversation I'm having.
It's a talking competition of things dark as a sea,
And just as angry. I'm an adult, after all,
And I have no idea how to fix anything.
I'm too use to everything being broken.
Are the flowers purple, are they gray and brown?
They're not in a panic, I'm sure.
Will they ever stop their stupid talking?
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Comments
I once gave flowers to a girl I loved. They bloomed forever. Lovely Verse. 💕
Not only beautifully written yet quite genius to a mad and superb piece of poets reflection, maybe they are gold? Wonderful. 🌹
That means a lot, Thanks SH
this is not .. & I do mean NOT a tit for tat .. this is a little masterpiece
I have read your poem here a few times. It's really extraordinarily good. It really is. Why? There's a huge story between the lines, here. And flowers do talk. I realise this, now, after reading your very clever poem. Its a poem that makes its reader really, really think. I love it x
My stuff is largely up to interpretation, obscure as I am. It just comes out that way. Thanks for your patience. PS the flowers talk they may, it's getting them to shut up that's the trick
'I have been.paralysed by whatever death means'... understood completely. Don't talk to the flowers R... they know shit. I like this very much x
I'll admit right now that I reread the comments when I'm down or bored and this one is brilliant.