I will accept your flowers...

I will accept your flowers
With a guilty heart
For robbing them of life
Which we can never impart.
I will hold them gently
Close to my chest,
But will they find it worthy
Even for a momentary rest?
from their faint fragrance
I seem to hear their words,
'Why do you pluck us in bloom,
Like you shoot down the birds?
'Tomorrow when we will wilt
You will throw us in the dust,
But the same fate awaits you,
You'll return to dust, yes, you must.

© Portia Burton

Me and My Muse

The dusk has fallen, it is getting dark,
Alone and nervous I wander in the park,
The breeze is cold and has started to bite,
Everything is gloomy, nothing seems right.

Now comes wafting a  scent  that I know,
And in an instant my eyes start to glow,
Lo, there she is! A goddess in every way,
Has the breeze stopped in awe of her sway?

She is my muse,  heavenly  and  glorious,
Friendly as  a fairy, albeit mysterious.
Her tresses glisten around her angelic face,
She comes to me in her lovely grace,

Like a charged spirit I rush to her,
How ardently we meet each other!
In her calm eyes I find my solace,
But she gets dissolved in our embrace,

I submit to her and through our union,
I realize that we are not two but one!

© Portia Burton

My Room

Sorry, my room is totally disorganized:
There are more books of poetry
On the shelves than text books;
Crumpled ***** of paper containing
Unfinished poems jeering at me
Are lying here and there, along with
Some incomplete drawings and paintings
Of wingless birds, truncated trees,
Confused paths ending abruptly
Before reaching any destination;
Dried up brushes coated with colors,
Disheveled like my auburn hair...
Then, in a corner a dusty vase
Squirming with dried, crooked stems
Mourning the petals turned to dust...
And me, circled by an invisible cage
Which prevents me from touching the sky
Which calls me out like an yearning lover...

© Portia Burton

October

The yonder hills look like
The birthday cake with green topping.
My eyes were swimming in the ocean
Of the sky's infinite blue.
Autumn golds are melding together
Sepia toned with a tint of brown,
Rustling leaves look like the lips
Of girls singing in a chorus.
There's our favorite coffee shop
Where our hearts will beat in 'mocha lattes'.
And, yes, as you say, this is HAPPINESS!

© Portia Burton