Poem: Daffodil and Dahlia
An attempt at poetry. Comments and crits always appreciated.
He is daffodil and daisy to my dark dahlia,
Sun and spring to my blood red drops
Of the dusky fall of autumn. In the shadows I hang,
A creeping vine of indiscreet twine,
While he is in the field, beaming yellow happiness,
Making everyone (including me – especially me)
Would be my touch become a corruption?
Would the brush of my reaching hand taint,
Draw him into the darkness, the smothering shadows
In which I grow and blossom
The crimson of wanton desire?
Yet he is not trampled on; there is defiance in his joy.
The light and air of him is undiminished, even in shade.
And perhaps, instead, I will be brought into the sunlight
– not, as I fear, to be blinded into oblivion,
But to shine in stark, frightening pride for this sweet, gentle man,
Whose brightness and delight may be come my own.