A Tale Of What I Am <br /> <br /> A Sonnet for Cynthia, who dislikes the word, 'I', in poetry <br /> <br /> <br />What I am composes not dissimilar <br />As a rose preposes and presents <br />Countless millennium encloses what we are <br />Embodied from thin veils of tears <br />Aborning light years of aching feet and limbs <br />Evolution of breaking hearts joyful vessels <br />Beholding memories into leaves and branches <br />Bud and petal release longing in subtle <br />Presentation of Eros mother Pathos <br />The Garden curls within the edifice of civilization <br />The genesis of flesh bone and flower <br />Expressed in inexorable warmth of creation <br /> <br />What I am composes not unfamiliar <br />As a rose reposes and unfurls itself <br />In folds and furrows of endless pastel sky <br />Roots dreamt deep in the loam of land <br />shadows and light held fast by yearning <br />A thousandfold hymns distilled blended <br />And infused among sorrowful souls passing by <br />Each insufferable journey bound for bliss <br />In triumphant Beauty in the mystery <br />Fragile as sensate fleeting petals we dwell <br />Such tactile strength spawns fragrance <br />Arising from the Pure and Noble in us all <br /> <br />Aspires and transmits our kind into blossom <br />Everlasting testimony-stems a rose a tale of what I am<br /><br />Phillip Michael Sawatzky<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-tale-of-what-i-am/
