Carnations

These thoughts are like gifts from an old forgotten friend:

She in her eternal beauty stands upright.

Her smile inspires the movement of celestial bodies.

So I hold fast and close this timeless beauty

And hope the world will somehow understand.

It is a pity the world will never be privy to this,

Here in this room, or able to spy,

Upon this bright light shining, unrepentantly through

Burning. What fools are they who simply look away!

 Stooping low, now, her smile still constant

 Still always willing to help others in an instant.

A hard day’s work leaves sweat upon your brow, though.

Dirt is such a constant part of your countenance.

Its beauty never wanes nor wavers. Yet,

Perhaps this is my curse but also my blessing

To know the truth of beauty and of your quiet 

Grace without the need for a washed face.

Do not be bashful. Please, do not look away.

Before you take that bite,

As many women of far more weight and design than you

—Look first upon me, 

And leave the blushing cheeks to another time.

Now simply see:

I am here.

And this was not just a copy of an icon.

Bite the apple and know:

You have defied design and time.

Your beauty and brightness are known by people close and far.

You are often visited by men, whose hearts are both weak and strong.

And all alike in love for you

And willingness to expire in their quest

For a single glimpse of your smiling bright eyes.

And yet, like a moth who has finally seen

That final spark,

I gravitated towards you,

Even though I ought to know better,

I should not.

As those great poets of years gone by have spent their lives proclaiming

This fire by which I have been warmed

And my sprit given cause to write:

It is your beauty,

The greatness of your bright eyes,

That when brought to task

—When turned to me  

Councils my soul on all that is

And what is light.

The apple core I kept,

And glanced at it a while.

It was all that was immune to

Your devouring lips,

Your unquenchable thirst,

And insatiable hunger.

And those red stains, 

Which linger upon its skin,

Taunt me.

A reminder of when your shining face was not known to me for the cover it was.

And for all my hopes, my wishes,

I know this world is not mine alone.

There were others

And you were not mine.

As the frowning eyes watch

(When do they not?)

I know no matter how much I would like to hide,

There is always that witness there.

This discovery that we have not been alone,

The sole occupants of this room,

Which has taken away the stars,

And all that is bright.

Though I may now be quite cold

Having, of my own choice, been

Deprived of your warmth.

I know this was not the greatness I yearned for,

Not the definition that would complete me,

Nor the embrace I would stop for.

 This was just a nick,

  Nothing more.

Those moments of cheer

And those peaks and valleys I often experienced

Were nothing more but

A confusion of the senses.

I was paralyzed by my expectancy.

That passion was not that

But mere whim.

And all that was love, but a sickness of the mind.  

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