DREAMS

Forlornness....I revel in the mellifluent
greyness of its hollow sound,
a resonance of dark beauty, restoring,
familiar, as is all true beauty.
Is it music to my ears alone?

I was born into this symphony of slate
clouds, cold, raw fog and dying
seeds interred in yesterday's ashes.
This desolation is my sacrament.

Leaden drops pound the melting snow,
as she rips pale buds from tender
green apices, rends stamens and pistils 
from the Season's first lilies. 
Why do you smile so, mother?

Words could scarcely limn the weight
of this phantasm. Each Spring, it settles
upon my chest as a pall of the dead, its
moist, yielding softness melds with
my skin as bloodied pinions into still water.

A lonely child mourns your unseen flames,
little broken lamps. Forlorn grey
sounds of ripping, severing, haunt her
dreams, as the hollow clatter of mother's
secateurs on the white wooden stool.

The burden of words unclaimed lurks in
my bones, of sobs unheard, cries
disregarded, meanings unconstrued.
My old soul shall never know
profound slumber.

© 2015 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Image: LILIES
Source: www.liveinternet.ru
Artist: Gustav Pope