You, my love, are the fleur-de-lis.
The offspring of innocence
The embodiment of purity
Silk are your eyes
For they look on with such suppleness
The lustre of your soul is reflected through those windows
Fair is your heart
For it reverberates much passion
Much tenderness; much hope
It loves profound
With the suave movements of your heartbeat
Another tender petal falls
A touch softer than a summer's evening breeze
Warmer than early morning's first rays
More comforting than a new-born's first motherly embrace
A touch more hauntingly beautiful than nature's grace
Une petite fleur, merveilleuse et vraie
Fragrance of divinity
Constantly blooming; forever beguiling
You, my darling, are the fleur-de-lis.
Floating green, shiny jewels
relaxing reflection in lake pools
glistening peace on waxy leaves
listening to hope in croaks' pleas
the ancient sound of language in trees
Ah, the serenity of frog stools
and the cleansing of a soft breeze!
Thanks for reading! K:)
Delicate and pure
soft and saturated
she stands before me
with a deep azure sky
beneath her eyes
and an inferno of locks
There is a presence
she holds on to tightly,
but I see beneath the rough surface
and gleam into
the kaleidoscope of her past
shaped of only the most radiant hues
I wish to smell, taste, and touch
every color she is composed of-
for she is a blooming lily
I feel so young and happy sometimes,
When I see, the beauty reflected in you each day,
And when I see you, I see the sunshine,
I love you more than words can say...
You're so beautiful! These summer days are excellent! So warm,
Your bright yellow color, it's beautiful!
Even, when your petals and life fade into shadows...
I am absolutely in awe of you!
Your Soul is vibrant; your heart is young,
And my heart is warmed by your yellow sunshine,
I could go on, and watching you grow 'til life was done,
This Intense happiness your petals reflect,
Like a golden lily in sunlight,
And for you, Mother Nature,
Thank you for this warm summer,
A summer filled with sunshine and flowers.
Copyright © 2016 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
I saw in the distance a girl,
and saw her lips with a smile curl.
I walked past tufts of grass
In pursuit of the lovely lass
And as I got nearer,
My passion got fiercer.
I was enchanted by this beauty
To be near it was my duty.
Wind swayed her hair
Covered her face fair.
Ah Nature! Why do you hide her from me?
I wish to see her, give me that liberty!
I picked up a lily
From the side of the road
The mud made my boots greasy
But I didn’t care, I strode…
I gave her the flower,
Told I’d climb a tower
And endure tens of whips,
Just to look at her lips
She smiled so coyly,
Egged me on seductively,
To grab her hips
and plant a kiss.
Then she laughed merrily,
And walked away casually.
If only for a moment,
I was destined to have felt this
I didn’t lament,
It was still bliss.
After my mother died, my room was filled with roses. When the flowers died, my room was filled with their sweet, rotten stench for weeks on end; it sunk into my pores and into my DNA and years later, I still smell like dead roses.
My sister confuses this smell with dead lilies.
A bouquet of red roses was placed atop my mother’s coffin as it lowered six
feet down into the earth. After the roses died, I wonder if my mother could
smell them like I did? I wonder if she still smells them, or, more likely, how long it took for the roses to disintegrate into dust like her?
We don’t talk about the body after death because we don’t like to be reminded of how vulnerable we really are. In high school, a boy asked me to prom using roses and lilies that were all different shades of reds and oranges and yellows like fire. Lilies like funerals and tombstones and formaldehyde.
I don’t think he meant to remind me of death. I don’t think his intention was to place me in a casket similar to my mother’s with its pink padded walls. I don’t think he realized that’s where I went when I saw his basement covered in bouquets of hellfire. I think he meant the roses to be romantic,
but I looked at them and saw my mother’s putrefying face, saw her intestines eaten away by savage bacteria and bugs, saw her eyelids drying out and peeling back like black and dead and withered lily petals. Embalming does not prevent decomposition, only prolongs it. I have embalmed my mother's
memory in the shape of a teal notebook. I cannot tell if it has
begun to decay or not.
Have you felt its bite?
Devour all my
It gorges upon all that is
Black breath flows
that saps my strength
My soul yearns to take flight!
Yet here i remain
Paralyzed by the
Gaze of this unrelenting
Will there be
Can i hope for
Or is my yearning
Death throes of
Out like a
It shall not
Come from you,
Food for the maidens
Despoiler of my
i require another
i know it can
One who can
Remove this yoke
Who can vanquish this doubt?
Who shall turn my discordant
Into a sinphony?
He is the
That will catch my boulder
As it threatens to crush
At the bottom of this
So come to me!
i haven’t the strength to yell.
If you can hear
Well acquainted with
i am not
Of this i
For the wilting of the
it makes you less sad, I will die by your hand
Hope you find out what you are; already know what I am
And if it makes you less sad, we'll start talking again
You can tell me how vile I already know that I am
I'll grow old, start acting my age
It'll be a brand new day in a life that you hate
A crown of gold, a heart that's harder than stone
And it hurts to hold on, but it's missed when it's gone
Call me a safe bet, I'm betting I'm not
I'm glad that you can forgive, only hoping as time goes, you can forget
If it makes you less sad, I'll move out of this state
You can keep to yourself, I'll keep out of your way
And if it makes you less sad, I'll take your pictures all down
Every picture you paint, I will paint myself out
It's cold as a tomb, and it's dark in your room
When I sneak to your bed to pour salt in your wounds
So call it quits, or get a grip
You say you wanted a solution; you just wanted to be missed
You are calm and reposed
Let your beauty unfold
Pale white, like the skin stretched over your bones
Spring keeps you ever close
You are second-hand smoke
You are so fragile and thin, standing trial for your sins
Holding on to yourself the best you can
You are the smell before rain
You are the blood in my veins
I received on my birthday
They aren't white lillies
but the sunlight coming through
the window highlights them
and gave me inspiration