'Oh, when will you return, my love?' wondered Kourê,
as she lays on the daybed, in the cradle of
Spring's clime; how the nights and days make
her so weary, as the yellowed flames sway idle
So many flowers sent,
each rich with memory.
Violets coiling around the triumphal arch;
His smile after their first kiss under
the flushing dawn.
Starlings who sing ever so sweet;
the song of him preaching of her being
a bright glory before others.
Crystal chandeliar that hangs from the ceiling;
Her on a small bench, his hands massaging
warm oils between her fae-sculpted
feet and toes.
The roses; a rouge kiss in the light of the shade
The harp; a white daybed draped
with a scarlet sheet.
She yearns for a hug from him, bathing nude
in light, as their hearts beat in sync
and reach the sky.
All she wants is a sweet rest, his hand on her
stroking, sighing, eyes shining,
water that trembles between fingers,
A feather drifts earnest, the glittering of stars,
And now she cools, recalling their sweet
goodbye as he rides his mare,
snow cloak shines eternally.
'Yours is a beauty that will never wilt,' he cooes,
placing a rose in her hair.
Her eyes falls on the white rose in the vase,
lonesome, thornless proud...
We marvel its beauty, its earthbound performance
She holds the rose in her hand, staring at its
its crowning glory; petalled virtue
By her ivory velveteen fingers
She plucks petal by petal by petal by petal
as she looks to the day-sky
with a dreaming mind
And when the crown is gone,
her face is touched by a frown
and the naked stem,
marred by her sensitivity-
raped of its own beauty-
for her hand's sake,
her yearning for her lionesque lover,
and aurorian prayers?
The stem falls, naked and bald on the ground
as she closes her eyes, saddened...
She cannot bear the sight of snow-kissed
flowered bays without the sun,
Know the true secret behind the red, red rose
As none know of its venomous mantle
this Rose lingered in the vase only to be
Taken advantage of only to
A laughing stock as another more beautiful
flower will take its place
Boiling with vengeance, the stem is hale,
jade with envy-
barbed with thorns, a poisoned desire
to shield its body,
Its pride, its crown stolen-
From snow to blood-
its pain turned crimson,
No longer will tears of dew fall!
'It matters not,' Kourê thinks, 'another rose will bud.'
For they, like many perennials and sentient life,
are conscious of its limited beauty!
'Mine own beauty and his will last forever.'
From the light beyond,
she sees him.
Her sun that rides the mare!
She runs into his embrace- a pair of happy doves
Her fingers in his gold curls
as he bends the knee,
The air lovingly cold at this display!
Ever so content!
Blessings upon the lily in the snow!
Upon her hands, the blood of a rose,
that swears vengeance upon her
for it will be the catalyst!
Blood for blood!
The rose will rise and curse
them with pain ten-fold...
Final part of the free-verse!
Hope you enjoyed it!
I came up with a little sad myth behind why the rose has thorns. Why the white roses are truly red. What did you think? I have roses in my garden but I don't pick the petals, they're too pretty!
What did you think of Kourê? Do let me know!
Love you guys! Thanks so much!