Flower and Thorns

The two poems I've here were written some ways back, during the LittleChinaGirl episode. These things are dark, they're freaking sad, and they break me every single time I read them. I hate these poems. They bring me back to a time and place I would rather forget. Though I did learn much, much from those troubled times, still, I hate it. I mean, surely, there exists a better way to learn what I picked up from that debacle, right? right?
I am the hand and she is the flower.

Flower

a thorned stalk lays fresh
the petals rest on pale skin

the thorns press against flesh
as the palm closes to hold in

the points breach rivers running blue
the stilletos yell and pierce deep

the blood flows gently through
as i hold a flower i can't keep

rGalang
4/2/2003

There is a story for Flower. I wrote it, when I was still living in Laguna. It was a wednesday night, we had a blackout, so I opted to sit out on the garden swing set. I had a pen, a notebook and mosquitoes hovering around me. Fun times.

Thorns

the hand holds fast to the blinding pain
as the beloved thorns dwell deeper

hungry for escape from emotions slain
the flesh writhes, drowning in dreams of forever

the dying palm remains clasped true
over rivers red and thorns of strife

let go, the felled hand cannot do
for the pain has become its life.

rGalang
4/12/2003

This one, I completed over a couple of days. The last two lines I wrote while working in the office. Talk about office productivity going down the drain. This is supposed to be a 3-set poem. The last one being the closing, the one that announces closure. Guess what?? I can't write it! HAHAHAHAHA. Yeah yeah I'll get to writing it sometime soon.