metaphoric
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A letter was on a page
part of a word
part of a conciousness
flowing out of the river of ideas
ebbing from the
lake of creativity.
The letter vibrates
through the air
Dead! My love is dead!
Taken from me prematurely
By silver wrought through his heart, Murdered
By a man no more virtuous than himself
Immortal heart impaled
My sisters slayed, bodies flayed
Their petals are falling as their colors changeIt wasn’t this way before but is it strange?These red roses are dying in delicate sweet sorrowWill their love shed too? Or will it see tomorrow?
