On the Death of a Lily in Munirka

When a flower is tricked to bloom too soon, 
the secrets of its bud unfurling,
it does not see that small, dark eye
that murders frame by frame;

and all things tend towards this end
for life is a silver fish leaping,
like tiny suns its scales burn
as it bends its back upstream.

Then is revealed the truth of the thing
when comes the final flourish:
what grace and courage beauty bears
when darkness drags it down.

©Abigail Wyatt, 2012

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s