rose nocturne
Rose Nocturne
by ainne frances dela cruz
Quagmired in
Deep-red blackness
It opens not to
Light, but to muteness.
It stands in
Half-light
Alone and
Opaque
And blooming
Terribly on stakes.
The rose flowers
With a heaviness
As if
Death waits
To swallow the blossoms
And scatter the remains
On angel
Tombs.
What is “it”?
EPIC!
What is it?
EPIC!
You want it all but you can’t have it/
It’s in your face but you can’t grab it!
Sorry, middle school flashback.
This one makes me think of Keats without the melodrama. And though I don’t like the use of the word quagmire, I can’t think of a better way to start this poem off.
I’d offer the word “swallow” to be moved up so that “swallowed in” opens the poem. Than replace the original “swallow” with “harvest”. Maybe not altogether better but the word quagmire has been spoilt by our popular culture.
giggity-giggity