This was written for One Stop Poetry's One Shot Wednesday.
I heard him whisper my name,
His voice rustling in the wind,
While blossoms fell from the boughs
And scattered on the breeze.
Icy fingers brushed my face,
Wispy tendrils traced my lips,
Kissing me with wandering gusts,
Blushing my cheeks pink.
Kneeling beside his grave,
With bowed head, I wept,
Tears falling to the earth,
Watering seeds left behind.
They stirred beneath the falling rain,
Blossoms reborn in spring,
Rising from the ash of death
To dance once more with the breeze.
Stunning imagery... Vivid, yet there is a tenderness within the blossoms... Beautiful!
ReplyDeletewow. you had me right there at the grave...that new life could come from death is a wonderful truth...
ReplyDelete"Whilst blossoms fell from the boughs,
ReplyDeleteTo scatter in the breeze."
Some beautiful lines mixed with a your "recurring" theme. Enjoyed it!
Interesting contrast of images
ReplyDelete