The Surprise of Being

30 Aug

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The Surprise of Being

Every flower has its secret…

As you see it standing growing from the earth, clinging to its vine, or swaying on the tree,
You feel at once its sensual beauty…
Those pink articulate lips
Divinely flavoured portals to a mouth
Where soul dissolves…eyes darting, black as midnight
Beneath ebon brows, snares for the heart,
The twin rosebuds, fair beyond other flowers.
So sweet there is no tongue can praise her enough,
To be satiated with just one taste.
The candied perfume her breath affords,
No rosary, those silly beads,
or nunnery or crucifix,
or liars be,
can tear her ruby born petals away.
At once you hunger for her moist centre.

There was always the flower that flowered inward, womb-ward;
It was always a secret.
That’s how it should be, they said,
The eternal feminine should always be a secret,
a veiled truth.

Then, under the ruminating gaze of the
luminous moon,
A tiny rosebud awakened…

For her, there never was standing inferior and folded on a bough
like the other flowers,
In a revelation of petals;
Silver-pink peach,
venetian glass of medlars and sorb-apples,
Shallow wine-cups on short, bulging stems
openly pledging to the celestial heavens:

‘Here’s to the thorn in flower!’
‘Here is to utterance!’
So said the brave, adventurous dark rose.

Oh, how the fruits fall and bruise,
the other flowers wither from the light,
Touched by a swallowed moon.
But for the valiant rose,
there were other incandescent nights-
And at once,
as she acknowledged her Being,
all were singing their song of freedom:
The moonlight musical,
The darkness clinging,
And she, the first rose,
remained ever vigilant and devoted to
her garden of nighttime blooming flowers.

~Copyright 2013, Julia DarkRose

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