Below is the poem entitled Collect The Dried Roses which was written by poet
McCabe. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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Knowing, even then, when I found them at the store,
their beauty was tragic, I should not buy them;
for my love demanded of me so much more
than orchids already cut forever from their stem;
but, my grasping heart has a way of making me a fool,
teaching me, often, of the limited reach of men;
we touch the surface of Fate's sea, a seemingly calm pool,
to be terrified by the depths reflected in the faces of women.
Still, I brought those crimson flowers back home,
not realizing the toll I carried, left-handed;
there I kept them, waiting without the proper loam,
the patient arragement my heart had commanded.
Then, she appeared and I made them an offering to her;
she saw through the ritual, yet, was brought beyond tears.
Upon me, she bestowed their fragile future to insure,
to hang them upside down, as bulwark against our fears.
Time passed and we fell further into each others' caress,
the pounding in our chests became the beat of one heart;
only then, did she accept the orchids' care as her's to posess,
with neither of us knowing, our end had sown it's start.
Though, she recieved my blood-like prizes into her care,
circumstance had her place them in the back of her car;
I'd given of myself for her beauty, I knew was most fair,
she took those red husks where she went, however far.
Later, as she steered the road upon which we drove,
we had to, eventually, surrender to what was to come;
from behind was the fragrance of a blooming grove,
and, ahead, our inevitable Doom, fears made sum.
A damnable breeze blew through the pane of her door,
and we cursed, witnessing Fate's jaw, as it closes;
red pedals, thorny stems flew wildly about, then to the floor,
I, then, knew our loss, as she collected the dried roses.