The late rose
By Peauladd Huy
I’ve cried long enough in the dark.
I’ve been kept hidden all summer long
and now late autumn, I’m being sent out when
those before me are already gone:
all dead petals
settled like mounds. O Living Father, what is the meaning of this
life? Abandoned to the environment:
bitter colds and erratic sunlight
under the old magnolia. Root bound, mostly stones
sunk slumped drippy grey.
I hope I am not asking too much, Father, just to be like my other
brethrens in full sunlight, not like those getting only glimpses now and then,
as if being banished forever to damp
life of shadow, like those with names: Saxifrage, Violet, Fern, and Jack-
In-the-Pulpit peeking out between stones and soil – not to mention those bare roots.
Remember I’m a rose and, I need full sun
all the time. What is your purpose in sending me out like this?
I’m so confused, Dear Father. Was there a lesson
in living under conditions against my nature? Was this your way of teaching me
adversity in this life?
3 comments:
Go find some love!
That is a very nice poem. Of all your peoms posted so far this one is my favorite. keep writing.
Thank you for sharing a wonderful writing. I really like this. But the sad tone of this writing is more difficult for me to swollow! Please be nice to yourself. Some time we love everybody else except overselves! How can we do this. We are equally important as anybody else, thus it deserve our own love as equally as everybody else that cross our path!
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