PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

in the meadow

by the park

I saw wild corn flowers

growing

they were the exact color

of your eyes

that afternoon when you

first told me that you were

in love with me

a child strolled by just now

and carelessly picked them

I cried

again

as if your love had been

yanked away

from me

first by your death

and now

by the greedy little beautiful

child's grubby hands

you were cruelly plucked

from me once again

an 'Innocence Revisited'

only to be yearned for yet again

in this same stupid meadow

by that old park

you once loved so much

oh, why can't your memory

just like you

stay dead.............

(Jan. 17, 2000)