METAMORPHOSIS

I saw the blossom fall
and in the sadness of
it all
was born a new beauty
on the pathway -
a soft carpet of pink petals
for tiny feet to feel.
Stooping to pick up one,
to touch,
I understood the sweet,
limp sadness
of impending, inescapable,
metamorphosis:
Bright pink, pretty blossom
to an eventual
veiny
earthy film,
so ethereal as to be
unseen...
molecules blending
back to earth.
And they call this
death.

 

 

© Griffonner 2022





Poetry by Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 145 times
Written on 2022-11-03 at 13:04

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Sean Ryan Bjerremand
A beautiful poem. I like it very much.
2022-11-14


D G Moody
A profound insight Allen. Who dies? If we accept that there was never a 'self' then it is only transience from the personal to the impersonal.
2022-11-08


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
A fine meditation, Allen. Personally, I see no distinction between the "living" and the "dead."
2022-11-03


arquious The PoetBay support member heart!
And then it cycles over again. Strange how their timing is different to ours.
2022-11-03