Dandelion (For Aiko)
by Rachelle Howe
when the clock strikes midnight
lustrous shards of dandelion petals
and mothdust weave together
and form my inner child.
that inner child stirs whispers,
and thrusts me into the inner turmoil
known as man.
for i, i, that broken individual,
who no more could understand
the rhyme or reason as what
was painted by the gods.
it is all a foreign language to me, dear one.
what are these things which we abound?
are we not guiltless and
sought to form our own ideals?
are things such as this still
not glanced in hail storms,
and kept in the radiance of the moonlight?
are we not lost? are we not women?
and also, in these simple silhouettes,
are we not found in the silver lining?
hold to truth, and in that,
be true to yourself.
live, young dandelion.
live, thrive, love, and never glance back.
your eyes may be pale in the blinding rain,
but the thunder is as loud of a voice
as either of us will need.
Author's Note: shower me in stars, if you see fit. i would relish it marvelous much.
Posted on 08/14/2003
Copyright © 2022 Rachelle Howe
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Max Bouillet on 08/15/03 at 06:56 PM|
Striking imagery that really engages the reader's senses. Great read.
|Posted by Kristine Briese on 10/27/03 at 02:06 AM|
Dear sweet heaven. Aiko is, of course, amazing. This poem, though. Language of the gods. Or even the goddesses. Stunning and radiant.
|Posted by Maureen Glaude on 10/27/03 at 12:47 PM|
always listen to that inner child. and try to see with the third eye of children. I've been reading about it in a book about P.L. Travers, of Mary Poppins fame
|Posted by Angela Stevens on 04/12/13 at 06:34 PM|
The last stanza stays with me. I like it, some beautiful imagery here.