I lift the Unimportant from the vase- <br />the dried that absorb no more, <br />the ones hung upside down from <br />cortex nerves and ashen fireplaces. <br /> <br />I lift the Real from the glass- <br />the white silky, breathless plastic <br />that flows everlasting smiles through <br />nonexistent veins. <br /> <br />The Real, <br />the perk amongst curved roses; <br />dead, dried, and dusty- <br />reds faded to burgundies, <br />defeated forest pines that prick the clarity of the vase... <br /> <br />Clarity that now needs to be submersed. <br /> <br />As soap slips from my cloth fingers <br />to the decored glass cavern below, <br />I scrub with vengeance over the aged <br />scratches of the dead; <br />taking the dirt and pain, indeed, <br />but leaving the unique curvature of past creaks in foundation. <br /> <br />Of past discoveries... <br />past developments. <br /> <br />Locked to the now fading indents of thorns past, <br />eyes spy a smudge not leaving, <br />burned to glass: <br /> <br />a print. <br /> <br />A print... <br /> <br />from the finger <br />forcing my mother's <br />to flush her child... <br /> <br />A father <br />denying my brother <br />to spite my mother. <br /> <br />Pessimism's print amongst <br />presents of bittersweet's past. <br /> <br />Caressingly, I ding the everlasting Real to the <br />sparkling dinged glass. <br /> <br />While the curved Unimportant tings expanding plastic. <br /> <br />The Real rings restlessly upon my ready ears; <br />whom, to most, <br /> symbolize death <br />with their white florescent sorrow... <br /> <br />but for me... <br /> <br />signifies a memory worth keeping.<br /><br />Lily Bathen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/roses-and-lilies/
