Love hurts, blah blah blah, love blows, blah blah blah, love [whatever!]
Obviously we wouldn't be human without its predicaments. Go love go!
Hey . . .
THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
This Yellow Rose
Heaving dreams onto pedestals didn’t work,
Neither idolatry of feet nor phallus,
Sneak attacks nor unclean notions of love.
Distracted ash burned faith and bed sheets,
And booze couldn’t quell the current of hurt.
Forcing cherished gospels we left contentment,
Strayed from best intentions to opposite camps,
Argued around meat to stomach expired milk,
Made believe that sour was sweet.
Universe turned without us, her music paused.
Dipped in wrong images too long the magic
Subtracted from hearts left bewildered husks,
Bedside brooding, wedded resentments,
All the good times engulfed then gone.
This yellow rose stands against ugly endings,
Stands for what we had at beginning blush:
Petals not yet plucked, dreams not yet bruised,
First risk, first kiss beneath unmarred moon.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
This Yellow Rose
Posted by
Anonymous
at
6:18 PM
Labels: mc guimond, poem
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1 comment:
'Argued around meat to stomach expired milk,
Made believe that sour was sweet'
this is a chuckle!
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