How could a man
look more defeated?
Drenched, sorrowful,
drained, and depleted
of the vital things
that helped him be.
Flower stems fall
from a hopeless grip,
in their own Autumnal
shower of petals,
cast adrift,
as sweet fantasies
that float away,
like little funeral barges
sent to make
trade with Osiris,
and lie about this love
as the greeting gift,
in exchange for a knowing nod,
a pat on the back,
and a second chance
from the scale
that does not
forgive.
Like Autumn,
these flowers represent
the dead and the dying,
but for them,
there is no rebirth,
nor vibrant spring
for a wilted love,
bound by a ring,
unwanted, ill-fitting,
and ‘ever-lying.
Infinity turns back upon itself
as the cycle is renewed,
but this ring of gold
turns only one direction,
and without paired loops,
a man is met
by only his own
disheartening
reflection.
The harshest glow of truth
is gold’s glow of rejection.
But if we wait long enough,
perhaps the gift is forgetting…
does that circle
turn back upon the beginning
before spiraling away
into the emptiness
of the ending?
The man still stands,
dried and desiccated.
He finally realized
that love is a kindred thing,
a duality, a sharing,
and it can’t be known
by what one’s own
reflectiom brings,
in the absence
of that truest
infinity.
© CG Tenpenny, 2021.
