Wednesday 13 May 2015


MAY


Whitebeams, lofty and tranquil against
the hazy blue, hold the wind.
Magnolias, weary of soughing, now rest
awhile, a pause effect in the
glissade of their diffuse pink stained glass
glow upon the glaucous grass.

Dappled chartreuse seas sighing in the 
distance pine for fallen flowers
that tinted them with translucent violet
shadows. I am a fellow mourner,
blessed verdure, drowned in periwinkle  
showers, flurries of flamelets
at my feet, frozen blossoms in my heart.

Could one know the lornness of glacial
deserts in this palisade of
Summer's green-gold light? Here, where
roses climb into my lap and
larkspurs envelop my knees; where the
air tastes of honeysuckle and
Rowans and Hawthorns guard my sleep?

Pain does not dissolve in the noonday
sun upon fields aflame with May's jewels.
It is my own poison tree,
my master and mentor, distilling darkness 
from beauty and sustenance
from wounds that rent my soul. Smiles and 
words are but an overlay of scented
petals upon a field of scars.


© 2015 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Image source: www.liveinternet.ru
Artist: Alfred de Breanski

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