Array ( [sid] => 183930 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Resonance [time] => 2017-02-17 05:14:56 [hometext] => petaled wonders- people poem is a metaphor on the individuality of human beings and associative drama [bodytext] =>

Petaled wonders all;
some, in greeting the morning sun,
smile sincerely as a blessed touched person.
Other flowers carry on,
soaking the gift
with nary a turn, a flush to the raw source
that makes purple purple, green green, yellow yellow.


The field allows all;
equal dirt, equal sun, without prejudice.
Flowers live, get trampled, blown, torn and sprawl
in the field of changes,
yet ever the same
for every petal, stem, shades of all.

As one leaves another grows,
perhaps to sing in joy or limply stow a ride
on the morning living tide;
They come again in color, to play as others played,
to shed as others fled,
to rejoice or notice nothing,
to cry in pain or wonder what//'//s for dinner.

Such majestic opera;
happening every morning, every moment
in every field,
in kitchens and living rooms of
marble to dirt,
but every flower
is still a flower,
and so, of worth. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 337 [topic] => 25 [informant] => Invierno [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => MiscPoems ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Resonance


Resonance
Date: Friday, 17th February 2017 @ 05:14:56 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: Invierno


Petaled wonders all;
some, in greeting the morning sun,
smile sincerely as a blessed touched person.
Other flowers carry on,
soaking the gift
with nary a turn, a flush to the raw source
that makes purple purple, green green, yellow yellow.


The field allows all;
equal dirt, equal sun, without prejudice.
Flowers live, get trampled, blown, torn and sprawl
in the field of changes,
yet ever the same
for every petal, stem, shades of all.

As one leaves another grows,
perhaps to sing in joy or limply stow a ride
on the morning living tide;
They come again in color, to play as others played,
to shed as others fled,
to rejoice or notice nothing,
to cry in pain or wonder what//'//s for dinner.

Such majestic opera;
happening every morning, every moment
in every field,
in kitchens and living rooms of
marble to dirt,
but every flower
is still a flower,
and so, of worth.

This poem is Copyright © Invierno


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