DIANA A. CARAGEA

Old and bored is the foe with judgemental eyes
Which erases the contour, remakes clumsy lines
Then so boldly dares assume art doesn’t feel right
From the way our masters do from beyond sleep tight;
Send death wishes to spit lovers, kill them with a smile!

Take it back to days of hell when such thing was not,
Used to cheat and steal and lie before even gods.
Rotting roots and bloody vomit, in darkness I’ve found
A sweet lily to care for, now ripped from the ground;
Now, ghost lily treasured still, haunting petals bright.

It’s alluring, daisies dance in these fractal skies
And they wonder, tiny livings for all of their lives.
No one questions, daren’t listen on confessions felt
Lack of temper, spirals, frogs dance
For a purpose, breed and balance then they start again.

Then my lily shifts desire into what is seen
As the sin of showing wonder, beauty from within
For how long the human wanders, beauty mustn’t be,
Then tame blamer, leech and venom he is to all things:
My ghost lily thrives, enchantment from beyond the grave.

Source: Portrait of a Girl Holding a Lily by John Simmons