Thursday, September 5, 2013

Ancient Words (Poem 156)

Turn the flowers inside out,
let their petals fold and 
mold themselves around 
the shape of a summer afternoon--
a magenta parasol, or tent of rose 
and pale gold, a sumptuous palace 
lush enough to hold the treasures 
of the grandest fairytale queen.
Turn the flowers inside out, 
and read the patterns of 
their veins, their life's blood 
stains your fingers and 
the sun--a great cathedral window, hung on emerald frames--
illuminates their fragile curves
and intricate design. Come, 
laze with me voluptuously,
until the hour turns blue, and 
the flowers gaze up 
at the moon, and I, 
the silvery, shifting mist,
whisper ancient words to you.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six