As the light became broken
into smaller and smaller pieces of day,
as the nights became colder,
enfolding the houses and making them caves
he was restless and secretly wanting to go.
There was only one regret. He wanted to get
for her, beautiful earrings. He'd seen them;
they were full of light. They would brighten her dark
after he went away. But his time had broken
into smaller and smaller spaces of light
in which he could move and create. Instead
he would tell her, "Get yourself some roses,"
and she would — red roses for love;
he was still her lover.... And still to this day
she thinks of him when she sees red roses.
So it was natural, on seeing those earrings —
no, not the ones full of light, but dark red,
carved like roses — it was natural, I say,
she should think of him as she bought for herself
beautiful earrings, light in her hand, shaped like roses.
beautiful earrings, light in her hand, shaped like roses.
In response to Poets United's Midweek Motif — Light and Dark
and dVerse's Meeting the Bar ~ Repetition, Repetition, Repetition
I'm glad people like this poem. I left it slightly mysterious, as trying to incorporate factual explanations seemed to overweight it. However there is a back story. I hope you read the poem first, but if you then want to know its origins, go here.
I'm glad people like this poem. I left it slightly mysterious, as trying to incorporate factual explanations seemed to overweight it. However there is a back story. I hope you read the poem first, but if you then want to know its origins, go here.
