The silk merchant
Silk merchant 's gaze, a practical sweep,
Fine thread he seeks, where shadows sleep.
A finger points, with eager grace,
"This crimson hue, a rare embrace!"
Young maiden stands,with eyes so deep,
My mother's hand, it secret keep.
The silkworm spun a crimson stain,
Where pain and love, did interwine.
"Her wounded hands, the thread did hold"
A sacrifice, a story to told.
The silk, it glows, with life's own fire,
A mother's love, that "burns no higher".
Merchant's hand is still it's quest,
A sudden weight, upon his breast.
No words he speaks, no price he names,
But feels the sting, of hidden flames.
He sees not silk, but crimson Tide,
Where love and loss, forever ride.
The silent tears, the woven plea,
A mother's heart, eternally.
~Byeol
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
