I
May 9th, 2020
October 12th, 2020 (edited)
Do the bells toll for what is made or
for what is lost?
Do these people weep out of joy for what has come or
out of grief for what will come?
Wrapped in a satin shroud,
we offer virgin roses
to the new keeper of our youth
in his death black suit as he lifts
the veil embroidered with puerile fantasies.
"No more lies, no more pretense.
No more unnecessary sweetness,"
I hear an old ghost whisper behind me
as the man in front binds my finger and
seals my mouth,
but the kiss –
soft and warm like
the white of an angel's wings –
makes me wonder whether
ghosts are things of the past.
YOU ARE READING
Blue Bells
Poetry*Featured by WattpadAnthologies and LY* "A woman withers like a flower. [...] A man ages like fine wine[.]" Is this a law of Nature or simply the distorted reflection of some broken mirror? Can one shatter beliefs that have long run in the family...
