Lily Bathen

Lily Bathen Poems

The Best Poem Of Lily Bathen

Roses And Lilies

I lift the Unimportant from the vase-
the dried that absorb no more,
the ones hung upside down from
cortex nerves and ashen fireplaces.

I lift the Real from the glass-
the white silky, breathless plastic
that flows everlasting smiles through
nonexistent veins.

The Real,
the perk amongst curved roses;
dead, dried, and dusty-
reds faded to burgundies,
defeated forest pines that prick the clarity of the vase...

Clarity that now needs to be submersed.

As soap slips from my cloth fingers
to the decored glass cavern below,
I scrub with vengeance over the aged
scratches of the dead;
taking the dirt and pain, indeed,
but leaving the unique curvature of past creaks in foundation.

Of past discoveries...
past developments.

Locked to the now fading indents of thorns past,
eyes spy a smudge not leaving,
burned to glass:

a print.

A print...

from the finger
forcing my mother's
to flush her child...

A father
denying my brother
to spite my mother.

Pessimism's print amongst
presents of bittersweet's past.

Caressingly, I ding the everlasting Real to the
sparkling dinged glass.

While the curved Unimportant tings expanding plastic.

The Real rings restlessly upon my ready ears;
whom, to most,
symbolize death
with their white florescent sorrow...

but for me...

signifies a memory worth keeping.

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