L Milton Hankins Poet Blank verse

This Metaphor of Life

Alone, I amble through the garden dying
Mulling over the ending of another summer,
Realizing that all things have their season
Comes a sadness with the drooping stems
Petals lying on the ground like soft pebbles
Tenaciously hugging their fast-fading colors.

Do they remember being lovingly touched
Fondled upon the briary stem in passing,
Or is their life over, tossed aside in autumn
When their bloom has faded and cast off
Like we humans come to in our end times
Lying beneath the earth to rot unnoticed.

Seems a subject worthy of consideration
As I amble, alone, through this metaphor
Of life and its inevitable passing with time
To make way for other flowering youth,
Who will experience a casual adoration
Then fall away to be trampled underfoot.

Written September 9, 2022

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Caren Krutsinger September 13, 2022 at 6:41 AM I like blank verse; I always wondered what it was. I am not sure I could write it though. L Milton Hankins September 13, 2022 at 8:25 AM Iambic pentameter (although I'm not sure mine is) with no rhyme, and it should flow. You can write it, Caren. Give it a go!

Tom Cunningham September 10, 2022 at 7:19 AM Like the flowers and plants we grow and bloom and then wither and die but before that we plant the seeds that will then flourish and bloom continuing the cycle of life. Hope you're weekend is going well Milton. Tom L Milton Hankins September 10, 2022 at 7:48 AM Doing splendidly, Tom. Hope you are having a good weekend, too.

Michael Tor September 9, 2022 at 2:12 PM Your words convey a sad realization Milton. Love your wording in this one and the reflections you have on life and its appointed season of living and dying for plants, flowers, and people all sharing the same relationship. Very well conveyed as always. Enjoy your weekend my friend and keep on sharing your thoughts... L Milton Hankins September 9, 2022 at 4:23 PM Thanks, Michael. I hope you have a marvelous weekend coming up, too. I thoroughly appreciate and enjoy your thoughts.

David Kavanagh September 9, 2022 at 2:08 PM The cycle of life Milton, it can perhaps seem pointless, just live, die, repeat, but a lot more makes up true reality, than what we see around us, but I must say your poem is quite brilliantly delivered, the pensive pondering as you observe the garden wilting and decomposing around you in the autumn, simultaneously comparing it to human life and death works so well, I thoroughly enjoyed reading, cheers David L Milton Hankins September 9, 2022 at 4:22 PM Thank you, David. You are so kind in your thoughtful comments. I appreciate it.

Jenna Logan September 9, 2022 at 1:17 PM That's exactly how I feel about leaves and flowers that have bloomed and now lie withered and dying, but I don't think of people in that way. Can't stand the thought of rotting in a grave so cremation sounds like a viable solution to a problem most don't like the think about. Although a very good recital of your thoughts...Positivity please. L Milton Hankins September 9, 2022 at 1:40 PM Oh, I agree that this displays a rather negative tone, Jenna, but these thoughts are common, I think, when we walk through a garden and find the once beautiful petals on the ground "trampled under foot." Those same petals we once caressed and remarked on their beauty.