Valentine

by ether   May 13, 2009


The expected takes form in roses of red,
Shielded, caged by a garden bed.
A thorn you stole, and pricked your head,
Whimpering slowly; "would you prefer me dead?"

Now I'm sleeping in between your walls,
Admiring the off-white paint, how it falls
Between your fingers, they trace lonely halls,
Only the echo remains to answer your calls.

Your mirror finally turned its back on you,
Sick of your vanity, its hate just grew.
Until it did your head in and you finally knew
Those roses, not violets burn that comforting blue.

    report violation
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  • 14 years ago

    by Hallo A Lilium

    This is wonderfully eerie. You speak a great vocabulary. It's immense and expanding as I read. This was a deep poem. It could hold many meanings. And only you know the truth behind it. But I sense that you are lost. That perhaps you have come to see yourself in a different light. You once thought of beauty. But now think of all the ugliness that lay within? Not necessarily outer. But the pain inside. Which causes you to feel alone. And not even the mirror's can stand to look at you in such a state. It's terribly like me. I feel as though the mirror's all see the hurt. They can look right through into my very soul. And in my case the mirror's are people. Through their eyes I see me. All the heartache that show's on the outside. I think this work is beautiful. And has a lot of depth and meaning.

    5/5

    -FeignOctober

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