Flowers of the Hearth

Does distance really dim such a power as love?

Is time softening my wound?

Have the long roads mollified the ache within my heart?

Do we, surrounded by the deepest seas

Of our thoughts, transpire to parch the emotion

Beyond a warm touch?

No sands can convince me away from my rock;

However changing, I step

From plinth to plinth, stronger with faith.

Just as the tide laps the daily shores,

I extend a hand forth;

Over time, this will erode –

But only after my passion is gone,

My body feast for carrion.

Just as grass sprouts on the overturned earth

(Under which I will yet lie),

The buds I clutch to my chest are not yet wilted,

Though not yet in eventual bloom.

Through plucking these,

I will decorate the hearth,

Weighted with its previous gifts,

But I daren't uproot these foundations.

Not when hope sprouts:

That our distance might still be rectified,

Repainted, resolved

By the tender thoughts spread

As another flower overcomes the field,

So my love will overcome

Parting's ragged desires.

The End

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