green leaves, foreshadow,
of sword-like regalia…
lily buds unsheathed -
dainty pastels of yellow,
purple, pink and lavender
the sunshine stunners
a varicolored valley
calla lilies wild
blacks reds and orange
at home with pinks and yellows
the swinging season
pink robin in leaves
strutting towards the sunset
unseen gardener
Lone Lily
Unfurled in quiet repose
Grasped in the hands of the damned
Held under chin to capture the soul
Closed in the darkness
Of satin lined box
Never again to be gazed upon
It’s sweet scent lost to the living
Slowly fading as flesh melts
And all that remains……
Alas, I beseech you, Rose. How many have fallen to your elegant beauty? The curves of every petal, red as a ripe cherry, have called so many.
Next to the rose, who can love the Calla Lily? I am only a simple flower, beautiful, perhaps, only for that simplicity. My curves are not as elegant as yours, my whiteness not as royal as your red. I am not thought of for birthdays, or even to leave as gifts on graves to the dead.
A lily sits frozen upon a white mountain,
Overseeing the crimson sun.
Overseeing landscapes with striking ginger and emerald,
That even God dreams of such blissful sceneries.
Its Wind blows the Grass,
Into a wave motion, swiftly, and gently moving towards the lily,
Yet such a gentle gesture is unable to sooth away its bitter cold.
When it rains and falls on the ground,
Striking sounds of a piano echo’s throughout its pores.
Leaving a beauty, a masterpiece,
Trapped in a cold glacier, unable to feel,
The sweet rush that you feel,
When you hear and see what the simple things in life has to offer.
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