There was a time when flower crowns ruled
The feeble wanton world. Back then, I
Did not understand that
Sticks and stones would break my bones and
Words could be used to hurt me. Thoughts were
Pure and river sprung, like a new spring in water who
Does not think ahead to the journey down the
Mountainside, who must learn to flow around the bone breaking rocks
And sweep away the self same sticks who snap and break both
Selves and ourselves, they did not know of
The journey. They knew of the beginning.
And perhaps the ocean's end.
Thorns were always come by, with the
Flowers who didn't want picking, it was a way of
Weak but defense, and we
Pricked upon our captors but it
Did not suffice. Plucked from home our plot twist began and
We became like the river. Lily pads have flowers, too big and
Perhaps considered ugly to some and they
Learned how to float on us and remain
Unharmed
And we the river envied them and
We the river flowed on.
Blossoms in blue is what shade I sprung among
Reds violets pinks of vermilion-esk hue. Discontent roamer was
I but no aid for the ugly from the weak and the weak are
Stronger than the wishes of lily pads.
I used to wonder on stars and see golden reflection in
The rest but blue hues do not stand for stars, reds
Soaked in the sunshine, the violets the shadows and the pinks the lips of
Drowned. The blues were left with hints of dreams and Mami's
Apron, Tati's lashes.
Blues were made for statues greened with
Moss, abandoned empty from the
Start, filler required but none inside so we remain the empty husks of
Bygone selves we can't remove
Past wars painted with reds and blues but blues
Remain the understated
Uninterpreted unimagined
Stallions untamed in their spirit because they had no goal not a whit to start they
Never understood to make it through the steel all
Painted black they had to
Push past sticks and broken bones made
Strewn from strings of words without sympathy or thought, a
Heart attack of long lost bees and stolen pollen
Would halt their tracks along the swollen
Aid
So now
No more are
Flower crowns
Rewarded.
_____________________________
Ta-da
I wrote a thing
What do you think about my thing?
I really like the ideas in this, but it feels too long to me. It honestly could end after "We the river flowed on," and be pretty good. The image of being the river that starts fresh in the mountains and ends up in the homogenous mass that is the ocean is pretty awesome and, I feel, stands better on its own than sharing with the blue stuff.
ReplyDeleteI love how you use repetition. It's not super obvious but there are small echoes like "river sprung" and "new spring" and then selves and ourselves. It adds to the nice sing-song flow. I agree with Robby that it could be shorter but maybe instead of getting rid of things just weave them into something separate. Two poems! It's really lovely though, awesome work.
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