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Indigo's Fire Poem
I, the river
you, the bed
Please, may I have the flower
You may have my thorns instead
I, the fire
You, the flame
I am what you require
Yet you do not say my name
In your petals, I lie still,
Scared to stir, lest you recall,
Quietly, I await your will,
Lest you shake free and let me fall.
Down into heaven, I drown,
A gay song upon my lips,
Your roots, my final crown,
'fore I am cast from paradise's grips.
She is ash now
Purple faded into grey
Her beauty no more
Memories abandoned in decay
Copyright © Indigo's Fire | Year Posted 2024
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