mary douglas

The Merchant Returns To Beauty

here is the rose that cost me everything
he said
if only you had asked for peacock

diamonds, castles of aftermirage-sweet
dresses of orchid embroidery from the floss of
hummingbird wings, Viennese

tortes for breakfast lunch and dinner-
a brace of Firebirds
the end of human suffering;

one more golden breath...

here is the rose red as blood
that should not mean
what it means now

how could you know
what I know
and still live

tomorrow is a rose-red ship
breaking apart mid-

on a calm day.
while spectators gather

mary angela douglas 30 november 2009

Submitted: Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Topic of this poem: Beauty

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