angel · angels · flower · flowers · poem · poetic

of flowers and angels

the blush of a lush peony
the purity of a white rose
the crisp chill of a violet
a lily’s majesty

soft, calming

the touch of heaven’s hosts
the soft brush of feathers
the gentle breeze from warm wings
a soldier’s vast white glow

tutelaries of the beyond

both are heaven sent
albeit only the former seems tangible
and the latter hovers above our fates

unreachable, insipid

alike in almost all they represent
decades fraught with wonder
can angels cry? can they feel?

questions with no answers

tired of whispered kisses; of plaintive sighs
fed up with unshed tears; of unspoken promises
and messages shouted to the wind

is happenstance to blame for flowers and angels?
all through clouds, rainbows and rays of sunshine
can you hear me now?

flowers and angels
the unhappy rain bids farewell

flowers and angels
conjectures in this twofold world

hope is a paramour
of flowers and angels

 

************************

 

I wrote this sometime ago just for a book that is a requirement for my course. The story is about a girl who wrote this poem for her flower-loving mother whom she lost to leukemia at a very young age. Not incidentally, I had my grandmother in mind while writing this, for she loved flowers too-hydrangeas and lilies and orchids-and we were a very close-knit family. At the time, I was only seeking to embody what my character might be feeling, visualizing what losing someone will be like, because I, myself, have never lost anyone close to me.

I never thought I’d actually be losing my Grandmother only a little more than a year later. I hadn’t seen her for four months before she died, and I was grief-stricken with guilt and longing. Despair crushed me and my family, and until now, four months later, I think of her frequently, every day, and I cry and mourn for the loss of such a wonderful, beautiful woman who has cared for us all our lives.

So now, I try to live each day in her name, hope I turn out even just half the woman she was, and I dedicate this poem to her. For flowers are the only things we can leave for her on her grave and she is an angel who will never be forgotten, who will always have a place in our hearts.

For she loved flowers and now she is an angel.

***

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