Notes About The Poem
Happy Women's day to all soupers.. never let anyone dim your flame of resilience...
burgundy bliss
i g n o r a n c e~
is a rhyme without soul
an art of f a d i n g into oblivion...
like crestfallen tulips
twirling through tethered rays
in the midst of seething sighs...
and I am more than the
blazing thorn
of a phoenix rose moon,
infused in scarlet elixirs
of a sorcerous twilight,
weaving l o v e
in golden glows
amidst double-flamed scales
burning my velvety h e a r t...
pondering, would you
be the galactic gardener
that waters
my weathered spirit
when I am but
a mere memento~
tangled in
vindictive vines of vanity,
for I have a voice
I sing in garnet grace...
if tomorrow
you feel my heartbeat
between vintage verses
of a scentless sonnet
long forgotten, and e r a s e d
remember,
I am the silk and sage
and the untamable
silhouette
of a balmy blossom
that refuses to breathe
in the ossuary
of perished petals,
and wrinkled dreams,
ostracized by
chauvinistic thistles
and unpolished ink
pricking the soft stems
facing cyclones of greed
c i r c l i n g
in sheer arrogance....
tonight I trace the hyacinth heat
of unwavering zest,
drawing sanguine
smoke of love
with winged gossamer
tied to the redolent roots
of unblemished skylines
while crocheting
petrichor promises
unto the backbone of
a nocturnal garden,
where handmade
wreaths of hope and faith
feel softer than lunar light~
as this heart resembles
a maternal bouquet
of burgundy b l i s s ...
a woman who heeds not
misogynistic mantras ...
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