“(Rose)”; or “the shadow that split the sun-dial.” By aldo kraas, www.PoetryPoem.com/poet11586 Unlock all Features - Upgrade to Poetry Prime
I've grown curious —
for isn't curiosity a seed,
some gallant cocoon nestled
'neath this bedded reflection
of the moon?
surrendering itself indefinitely
to the idea that chance is a rain
capable of uprooting the rose
that blooms in moments
yet unseen: its lucent fans,
like bruised scarlet wings,
flit like words upon my wintry page —
and with fervent hands
I plant these things
where rain can softly seep 'neath
the sailing shade of a warm
high-noon.
and in a rosy moment
where seconds pluck petals
from its sprouting spine,
I cannot help but grow curious,
for I am faintly mesmerized
by this thought
that rose softly as our eyes aligned:
“What flower breathes behind the iris of your mind?”
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