ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
A single rose lies by the curb.
Like a dying woman,
Her cheeks are bloated, pale yellow,
Her lips a paling pink.
Dead rainbows
Wash her face,
The oily puddle lapping at her stem.
Mud besmirches her petals,
But her precious bloom is still full,
Unadulterated,
And unclaimed.
She has no thorns to defend herself.
Was she
A lost sentiment,
Wayward from her bouquet,
Her meandering fall unnoticed
Behind the blindfold of love?
Did she go
Unappreciated?
Were her tender words and enticing smile
Flung to the road
By one who did not wish to be wooed?
Was she misfit?
Unharmonious?
With the other flowers,
Did she create cacophony?
The path ahead of the puddle is white.
Mica glitters in the late daylight.
The door at the end of the way
Is closed.
The windows are silent.
No noise shines through the cracks.
The rose is still abandoned.
As if to see if she is still alive,
I nudge the blossom
With my foot.
Her silken hair brushes the puddle
And the oil glistens;
Polluted,
But optimistic.
But the love that once gave her life
Now sleeps with another.
It does not do
To disturb the dead,
So I press on.
Like a dying woman,
Her cheeks are bloated, pale yellow,
Her lips a paling pink.
Dead rainbows
Wash her face,
The oily puddle lapping at her stem.
Mud besmirches her petals,
But her precious bloom is still full,
Unadulterated,
And unclaimed.
She has no thorns to defend herself.
Was she
A lost sentiment,
Wayward from her bouquet,
Her meandering fall unnoticed
Behind the blindfold of love?
Did she go
Unappreciated?
Were her tender words and enticing smile
Flung to the road
By one who did not wish to be wooed?
Was she misfit?
Unharmonious?
With the other flowers,
Did she create cacophony?
The path ahead of the puddle is white.
Mica glitters in the late daylight.
The door at the end of the way
Is closed.
The windows are silent.
No noise shines through the cracks.
The rose is still abandoned.
As if to see if she is still alive,
I nudge the blossom
With my foot.
Her silken hair brushes the puddle
And the oil glistens;
Polluted,
But optimistic.
But the love that once gave her life
Now sleeps with another.
It does not do
To disturb the dead,
So I press on.
Suggested Collections
![[JJ] Tumblr Dump](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/fbf2ff07-b1ef-47d9-90ab-586270a8f163/d73910y-db463f08-bc94-4b93-a265-e13cce524157.png/v1/crop/w_92,h_92,x_0,y_2,scl_0.092,q_70,strp/_jj__tumblr_dump_by_northpines_d73910y-92s.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTEwMCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2ZiZjJmZjA3LWIxZWYtNDdkOS05MGFiLTU4NjI3MGE4ZjE2M1wvZDczOTEweS1kYjQ2M2YwOC1iYzk0LTRiOTMtYTI2NS1lMTNjY2U1MjQxNTcucG5nIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEwMDAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.3R1PclAHaFn8UZAT_ljCp8OZGkgUAAN_sWvrD-fHP74)
Sometimes the most powerful imagry comes from real life. I encountered the rose of this poem walking home from school a year or so ago. I could not figure out how a single, nearly intact rose could come to be all by its lonesome on the road, and I meditated on it for some time before walking on. Only now have I decided to turn my experience into a poem.
© 2006 - 2024 Freezair
Comments8
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
This is very good. I hope you don't mind but I am useing this for an english project. It's that good.