Open Poetry #38 |
Painting the Roses Red |
the quell Member
since 2006-07-19
Posts 144Liverpool, UK |
A poem about the loss of innocence... -- ~I painted the Roses red~ My fane. My altar. My rose-writhen arbour, Where the spun-glass globes of moons once slumbered, orbiting bloodless in the mythic dusk, Like snow-white's ashen fingertips - slender, snaking stalks of fairy-tale. The spires of cobwebs dripped icily, here, secure in their silent grandeur, Immaculate. Once upon a time, I was... Rose-scented. A child's face set in palatial, frost-blemished marble, Where a silken skeleton-cloud of dreams on bended knee once lingered, The dewdrop window of my frozen gothick asylum, The ice-bitten jewel in my ornate crown of thorns, Sanctified. But now, I've died a death, A death, all infused with raw scarlet blood-flush. The pulsing, hot-red heart of my topiary garden, ~where such carefully clipped emotions once slept~ Now, a mess of formless waves weltering in a vivid emerald waste, Verdant plumes spurting, flooding, gushing, (Volcanic) Engulfing the prostrate carcass of a child's tender mind. There are no King's horses, there are no King's men, To piece these pale dreams back together again. Now I'm falling, falling down, Or soaring up into the sky - I cannot tell. In all ways, I've become... Transient, like a child's handprints on the sand. A bloody black rose, Rootless and deadheaded, in a windswept world. I saw, Your heavy liquid eyes, (Hot, dusky honey in the dream-bedraggled night) Sinewy arms outstretched, as though Crucified. In years of yore, When those meandering Church services meant something... Quaffing sticky sweet wine, (Flame, flame red in a cold electric sky) I was so entirely yours. From one fine-spun astral plane to another, My fleet-footed essence now flutters, A hopscotch spirit, surreal and shapeless, But alive. Although once I wilted, lying cold and captive in your burnished hand. Your china-doll, your marionette, your fairy-tale Princess. You were so exquisitely cruel. And oh, you're beautiful when you're sorry... But you know, I'll never return. You broke my heart, you broke the spell, And Sleeping Beauty chooses, now, never to wake. Blood on the snow, blood on the Thames, Blood in my eyes as I fall... I painted the roses red. They aren't flaps; they're my face! |
||
© Copyright 2006 Rachel Isaacs - All Rights Reserved | |||
Seymour Tabin Member Empyrean
since 1999-07-07
Posts 31720Tamarac Fla |
quell A wonderful painting one worth viewing many times. Enjoyed |
||
TinaTrivett Senior Member
since 2006-07-15
Posts 569 |
(standing ovation)!!! LOVE IT!!!!!!!!! There is no decent place to stand in a massacre...but if a woman takes your hand, then go and stand with her. |
||
Interloper
since 2000-11-06
Posts 8369Deep in the heart |
Well done! Fool, said my Muse to me, look in thy heart and write. |
||
Earth Angel Member Empyrean
since 2002-08-27
Posts 40215Realms of Light |
Quell, your illustrious quill dips into exquisitely poetic ink! I am tucking this masterful piece of writing away into my treasure trove of poetic treasures. Your Light and inner beauty can survive anything that life throws at you, Dear One! Giving you a loving, healing hug, EA |
||
seraphin Senior Member
since 2000-09-24
Posts 1004Michigan |
Enthralling. Perfect. |
||
The Lady Member Rara Avis
since 2005-12-26
Posts 7634The Southwest |
I am spellbound by your work Rachel |
||
⇧ top of page ⇧ | ||
All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. |