Classic poem of the day
Love came to Flora asking for a flower
That would of flowers be undisputed queen,
The lily and the rose, long, long had been
Rivals for that high honour. Bards of power
Had sung their claims. " The rose can never tower
Like the pale lily with her Juno mien " —
" But is the lily lovelier? " Thus between
Flower-factions rang the strife in Psyche's bower.
" Give me a flower delicious as the rose
And stately as the lily in her pride " —
" But of what colour? " — " Rose-red, " Love first chose,
Then prayed, — " No, lily-white, — or, both provide; "
And Flora gave the lotus, " rose-red " dyed,
And " lily-white, " — the queenliest flower that blows.
member poem of the day
I open my ugliness like a fruit
peeling back the layers until I find something to devour.
I carry a wound that is starving itself back together, expanding across the dark spaces in my head while I shrink beneath it.
I don't know if there's ever been a body meant for me-
never been one that's hungered enough to hold me in the pit of its stomach.
And I don't know how many miles I'm supposed to lay with something like this-
a body bloated with water expanding over the oceans I imagine myself under, all noises muffled by the weight of it.
But if I stop, if I go backwards far enough and shrink under the pressure of years, it's only myself I keep pulling from that water; grabbing my own wrist and washing out all the dark spaces.
And I could do it.
I could live again
rise after nine years - and clinging to the soft husk of my body:
beg it to take me back.