Flower

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  • Lost Love
    • Flavorist
    • is still here, still trying to keep up with you guys... such gifted friends.

    Flower

    found a flower growing wild with two petals
    springing forward catching my eye and nose easily.
     
    I tried to water, feed and care for natures creation
    but with each loving touch of my words and expressed affection
    the flower seemed to grow farther away...
     
    Sometimes on a rainy day or night the flower would sing and cool to
    my mental suggestions on how i would love and care on her
    but by day break all seem to be forgotten and love felt seem to rotten
    while gentle questions that i ask would go unanswered...
     
    She would continue to bloom while i became harmlessly consumed
    by her beauty, fragrance and sweet sweet nectar i could not taste...
    but could only imagine taste more and more like heaven...
    Im taken by her.
     
    and her two petal, beautiful children that easily filled my eyes with
    happy tears, to see not just one of natures true wonders but
    the off spring as well.... brings me joy.
     
    But the land, the garden in which i spotted this flower
    was tainted with other near by haters and visual traps,
    days would go by with no word, no room for any verbs
    to run freely or be heard by both of us....
     
    I tried to replant myself hoping that Flower would reach out to me
    but i fear by changing view i have lost her completely
    and in turn lost apart of myself..
    Once taken but now possibly discarded...
    My gable may have cause me to be broke and without
    the nourishment Flower provided daily.
     
    Still i think of her and like that old Dr Sues story
    I saved a seed so some day maybe friendship
    can be replanted rainy days can seem sweet again.
    for now Im in a drought without Flower, Without Flower.
    only rain i see is the tears that flow down my eyes and chin
    I'm I alone? I feel alone.
    But I still take in and inhale...
    FLOWER

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    Flavorist’s Poems (41)

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