deepundergroundpoetry.com
Send Me Flowers When I’m Dead
Where would I put these beautiful long stemmed roses
Carefully wrapped, tied in a box doomed from the start
With a note, “You will always be loved” laid on top.
Sentimentality never cloaked you well, darling. Neither
Your accent with southern veil assuring remembrance
Somehow, somewhere. Tempering calamity of surface
Perfectly trimmed arrow’d stems puncturing the wound.
Again.
Faithful to the pain, my fingers search for the thorns
Carved claws feel smooth, yet; sharp against my fingertips
To dig graveyard of rusted memories but the tombstones
Are buried to deep to reach.
The heads bow in agreement relinquishing last sweet breath
They will not survive here, they will not survive anywhere
They were already dead.
Published 30th Dec 2019
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30th Dec 2019 8:53pm
31st Dec 2019 3:22am
31st Dec 2019 10:46pm
Quite a noir masterpiece Layla. Potent, suspenseful, laden with emotional currents, woven in their nuances of reminiscences, cultivated into this metaphorical weft.
We must bring awareness to our darkness to change it, to face it, frame it and move on. In Buddhism it is called shadow work. My most recent writes have been about that and yours seem that way too. I hope that I am seeing you and not just a reflection of myself, but in any event, I am always here for you.
May the new year be entirely transformed for you, my friend.
We must bring awareness to our darkness to change it, to face it, frame it and move on. In Buddhism it is called shadow work. My most recent writes have been about that and yours seem that way too. I hope that I am seeing you and not just a reflection of myself, but in any event, I am always here for you.
May the new year be entirely transformed for you, my friend.
