Past Prime
Pansies prick while wading through their sunken fields
Their philosophies thrill me on any other day
To see them now is nothing less than a sorrowful morn
See how they sag,
Their poise is gone.
What should have been a break,
stretched into suffocating nostalgia for a bygone
billowing
song
Perhaps from when they were but a sprout?
No matter,
I, too,
am new to the season.
These pamphlets speak of their early whites waning to
...Orange...
Or was it yellow?
Although blue would be fitting, wouldn't it?
But purple is in season!
Was it an amirer to do?
To offer condolences to a now slumbering sea
toiling to remember the events of last September
When you were mine
And I was yours
What does that make of us now?
What dose that make of me now?
Am I still naive for living through this fantasy-
replaying those last days over and over
leading me to become sick with an obsession that not even writing can extinguish?
Is this what you wanted?
Did you prey for this?
Did some god take pity on you to make your dreams come true?
Praise them then, for all they're worth.
Because I am a mortal and you are a flower.
You will be gone with the frost, and I will remain.
That's a lie.
I am rooted in your thoughts,
Just as you are rooted in mine.
Remain upset if you so choose, but do not blame me for how you act
This pitiful play will only drag on with every fortnight you give it
I implore you,
Pluck me from your brain,
Vase me if you care.
Trash me if you don't
But don't lie and say I'm gone.
Don't liken me to the liken.
I was beautiful.
We were beautiful.
You too, were beautiful.
You were only blue.
Lapis, violet, oceanic, sky, premadonna
Blue.