In this grave, I saunter
where faith has murdered me.
The taste of rich copper
from my own slaughtering
by my own gardener
lingers here, as do I.
A clueless masochist,
drear, earth-bound and tongue-tied,
awaiting my sadist
to the end that love lied
to steal one last kiss
before sealing my fate.
And what a crown to wear:
flowers laden with stone,
vines braided through my hair,
Queen of Left Here Alone.
My weary bones stripped bare,
for selfless still am I.
Perhaps I was planted,
thought hidden from heaven,
but my prayers, granted,
for my future beckons.
Slicing through soil, slanted,
like lightning, I thunder.
The earth no enemy,
and fed by light-lit rain,
because I was buried,
I rise and bloom to reign
above this treachery
and on me, the sun shines.
About the Creator
Sara Wynn
Poetry is my language, and Earth is my playground.
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