Dead Flowers
Dead flowers in the trees
fall from branches
like the blood from broken lips.
Dead flowers in the grasses,
petals curling
like the legs of upturned spiders.
Dead flowers on the sidewalk,
sun-scorched and bleaching
like the unfortunate wayward slug.
Dead flowers in a hand,
anchored with a burden
like the bones of buried loved ones.
Dead flowers on a tablet,
the memory of color fading
like the whispers lost in wind.
In the spirit of Earth Day, I’d like to share a WIP poem that fits the theme for the day. It’s still rough around the edges and I’ll likely revise this post to reflect any changes as I work them out. So without wasting any more of your time, here it is:
Skeleton Earth
The flesh upon this skeleton earth
is scattered thin and withered clean,
decay brought forth by a dominant thing,
that slurped and fed ’til all were dead.
But something yet remains
within its heart so deep.
Like a cosmic sphere of bone
it churns the marrow at its core,
molten rock that sings
with heat and surging steam.
New bonds form from littered remains,
and a seed soon feels the need
to stretch its roots and run,
to sprout from out the crust,
at last to know the sun.
The wind will blow
like whispers from the grave,
their molecules joined in synthesis,
paving way for dawning day
to embark this grand new genesis.
Marrowroot 