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Decorated by ~CreativeFlair:iconCreativeFlair:

Categories Literature > Poetry > Human Nature > Open


It opens
from bud to bloom,
a poinsettia in the palm
of his fat, ruddy hand.
In the hospital, we wait
for a diagnosis they missed:
all for the bauble, crushed in his fist.
©2006-2009 ~CreativeFlair
:iconcreativeflair:

Author's Comments

I think I like this one.


Please don't ask me what it means. Truth be told, I don't even know. Words just happen like that.

x

Comments


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:iconspamuel:
=Spamuel Dec 21, 2006, 10:05:05 AM
ahha! i think ive made an interpretation! :D

tis a grenade, yes? and he doesnt realise what it is, hence he holds it in his hand? hmm... maybe...

--
The Moving Finger writes, and, having writ,
Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears blot out a Word of it.
:iconcreativeflair:
~CreativeFlair Dec 21, 2006, 4:14:50 PM
Maaaaaybe?


It's pretty much open to interpretation. I think your idea is cool though . . . if not a little worrying =p

--
Decorated./Matryoshka
:icondragonfly2093:
~Dragonfly2093 May 28, 2007, 2:06:33 AM
I thought it was literally a bauble he'd crushed in his hands. That must hurt. *shudders* just thinking about it.
:iconabcat:
`AbCat Jul 16, 2008, 8:00:00 AM
It's a seizure, surely. This is good stuff.
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