Sephiroth912
18-11-2006, 04:58
Now, I'm not usually one who gets really into poetry. However, I thought this came out pretty good.
This poem was written for a school project. My teacher told me it just had to be a poem with nature as a symbol. With a little thought, I came up with a poem based around the death of my great grandma a few years ago.
The story is that when we went to her funeral, she was holding a rose in her coffin. That rose was blooming in her garden, in mid-December in Buffalo, NY. My aunt's flowers just froze and died, like many other roses would in that area at that time of year. The rose itself represents her life and her death.
Enjoy and feel free to criticize.
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December Bloom
*****************************
A flower blooms
Tonight in open December air.
Under cadaverous fumes,
Death’s cruelty shall it bear.
Red rose of flesh,
Exhumed in bloom.
For you, the gods shall clash
Amidst the dirge-ridden gloom.
From wilting blind beauty
Comes forth flickering life;
Showing birth until mutiny,
Smothered beneath strife.
But that rose, still it stands
Beyond her final rites.
Rotting calmly in bony white hands,
Still it’s her symbol of darkness and light.
This poem was written for a school project. My teacher told me it just had to be a poem with nature as a symbol. With a little thought, I came up with a poem based around the death of my great grandma a few years ago.
The story is that when we went to her funeral, she was holding a rose in her coffin. That rose was blooming in her garden, in mid-December in Buffalo, NY. My aunt's flowers just froze and died, like many other roses would in that area at that time of year. The rose itself represents her life and her death.
Enjoy and feel free to criticize.
-------------------------------------------------------------
December Bloom
*****************************
A flower blooms
Tonight in open December air.
Under cadaverous fumes,
Death’s cruelty shall it bear.
Red rose of flesh,
Exhumed in bloom.
For you, the gods shall clash
Amidst the dirge-ridden gloom.
From wilting blind beauty
Comes forth flickering life;
Showing birth until mutiny,
Smothered beneath strife.
But that rose, still it stands
Beyond her final rites.
Rotting calmly in bony white hands,
Still it’s her symbol of darkness and light.