Love's Thorn
23 March, 2003
Author: Elizabetta
Wispy wind blows
over a rose of white
that's lost in a crimson sea
yet stands apart
beautiful though not pretty
A young girl scampers
through the field of
ripened tulips yet
reaches for the lone
white flower, childish spirit
but snags the thorn and
her blood matches better
with the petals of the tulips
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Comments on this poem/writing:
| Stacy (152.163.188.193) -- Thursday, March 27 2003, 10:53 pm I love this and all of your poems; each encapsulates deep thought and meaning. I particularly like your creative symbolism and imagery. Through them, you masterfully express so much with few - but key - words. This I find truly admirable. Please keep posting. :) |
| Elizabetta (198.81.26.102) -- Friday, March 28 2003, 04:14 am Thanks, I really appricieate the comment! With my words, I throw part of my self out, and I'm greatful to you for reading them! |
| RedDragon (210.14.4.51) -- Friday, March 28 2003, 10:32 am You write in simplicity yet elegant and regal. Everyone could relate to your poem as you employ words that easily understood. I couldn't wait to read more of your poems. |
| Martin Vann (63.208.45.154) -- Friday, March 28 2003, 07:12 pm Elizabetta, Should mountains ever tumble to the ground, or rivers cease to flow, it must be that they have read your poems, such power, I have never known. The love of a young and tender heart, shared for the first time, with another heart. How, we wish it could always be, love, without its pain. Yet, there was a thorn upon this rose so white, and it over came her heart, blocking out, what was once, a warm and loving light. Love's thorn has pierced my heart, but, then continued on, never seeking to be part of me, only desiring, to Conquer, me. You were the purpose of my heart, now, its no more than a long, black hearse, wherein my heart resides. The love has gone to some new endeavor, Crimson Tulips, not white roses, are all you left, lying at my side. Elizabetta, these words are my reply, but, they are not mine, I saw them in your poem, softly laid, between each line. MartinV |
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