The Flower by Robert Creeley
Fools rush in, says Sinatra in a song, and here I am, more than glad to be unhappy, he sings. Look at yourself, he croons, do you still believe the rumor that romance is simply grand?
Here, a poem for our wounds:
The Flower
Robert CreeleyI think I grow tensions
like flowers
in a wood where
nobody goes.Each wound is perfect,
encloses itself in a tiny
imperceptible blossom,
making pain.Pain is a flower like that one,
like this one,
like that one,
like this one.
H
Thanks for sharing this wonderful poem. It is going to make my night a sleepless night because of its beauty.
H
Zee
I just found your blog and it has blew me away since then…
Fondly
Z
Susan Scheid
You’re right, T. This is a beauty.
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nobody
I only wish I could write like this… thanks for posting.