Poetry Collection Vol.1: Ex Nihilo

Wilted Lily

Starting with an image of a glimmering angel,

Frills on her cloth, alone whilst dawdling through the dark.

My mind feels awash with many quarrelsome thoughts

Upon a page, I thus embark, but also afraid that I ought not.

Because even though however candid,

Disoriented is this mere excerpt of tangent.

Of a dream fore its memories surely vanish.

I miss it verily, a longing that beset in dreams where once a scarcity.

I tried to dismiss it daringly, but such a vivid, harrowing scene.

Set in an ash ridden temple, wretched and bleak.

A token to broken love's object of defection,

A tattered and cracked effigy, once a place of reverence and levity,

Remnants once thought to be a garden, so blessed be.

Holdings were to yet see growth of its precious lily of glee.

Representing innocence and purity but corruption encumbers me.

But perhaps for soil I may have very well tainted

This isn't meant to be, foiled for an effort in vain.

For perhaps flower, fragile as such isn't my destiny's frame.

I nurtured the very beginnings, roots took and forth I saw it spawned.

My truth mistook and so saw its blossom withdrawn,

My crude demons afoot, weaving mischief like spindle and yarn.

Saw them stooped in soot; two hemmed in my goodness as I looked on.

One, simple and gawking, the other, a quintessential visage of calm.

Awed, I saw my flower dwindling within wicked palms.