A Hunger Unfed
Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart; I breathe at this hour the fragrance of the lilacs, the violets, and the roses, as at twenty years ago. - Victor Hugo
when lilacs blossom,
spring writes of moments
before the rain erases the night
melts the petals like a sacrifice,
gently coloring the light
in heady whispers of buttery truth,
blazing tangerine sighs,
a laughing joy that arises in the skies,
just before the breathless prayers
soothe away the shadows,
while music caresses the heart
in windy rumors, gossiping,
about the seeds who plead with the morning,
to listen to the angel’s sing,
breathing wonderful into the psalms,
promising the soul to stir up thoughts,
playing their guitar solos
on the edges of a hopeless cloud,
who remembers only to remember,
yesterday, the past,
turning back from the doubts,
blazing signs of passion,
prose dazzling as the wings of peace,
in fire, she is robbed of her wings,
birthed on the pangs of a grief,
far quieter than anything I can see,
I listen to her,
and see the sincerity of a seed,
planted by the music,
grieving the last inklings of truth,
seeking only the lilac’s soft face,
as she reflects the times
when fate will smile into the night,
guide her away from the fires,
comfort and caress,
kiss away the sorrows, remind her,
she is blessed,
by the kindness of fate who decides
even the lavender hues
who tell her the news,
these, too, are arranged so she can see,
through the blinding winds,
past the rain’s showering her dreams,
so that forever, in the night
in the light, she can see…
and smell the scent, the odor of a destiny,
arising in the buds, on the branches,
her music enhanced by the birds who agree,
she is a moment who heeds hearts,
welcomes the springs with all it has brought…
the sun’s smile, the rain’s cry,
the beautiful that decides…
even the lilac can calm the tree,
the lilac can feed the dreams,
the lilac can relieve the grieving,
of a winter who remembers
only to believe…
in the spring, there is reprieve,
from the darkness of a cold season
that is meant to secret every need,
as the lilac lies dormant,
she can still smell the susurrant scent,
of spring’s new awakening,
the stirring of laughter, the revival
of a lasting grace, a welcoming faith,
a growing love for all that comes from above,
including this lilac, whose scent is so pleasant,
it sometimes reminds me of honey,
as it’s introduced to a hunger unfed …
honey scented lilacs,
and a new spring has finally begun!
Copyright ©
Regina Mcintosh
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