Paper Flowers: Youth, Not Beauty
He held me in his grip
Like a bouquet of flowers
And whispered:
“It is not your beauty,
My love,
But your youth.”
“You are as gentle as this blossom
Falling from a great tree as
The wind spins you like a dancer”
He picked the blossom from the air and put it in my hair
And ran his hand across my face,
“your hairless skin is a petal under my fingers”.
But that cold wind was once a summer breeze;
He blew his gale
And I lost all my leaves.
He took the flower from my hair
And snapped my stem.
If I were still young, would you love me then?
A paper flower is forever young,
He ripped me from my roots
And killed me when he was done.
Sadly I subdued to his power,
And as if they were paper
He burnt all my flowers.
Poetry by Luke Cable 