Armand Poetry

Welcome to Armand Poetry. The poems (and other words) here are composed for my own thought and amusement. Comment and discussion are welcome. -Amore, Armand-

Saturday, May 14, 2005

Friday the 13th

It is odd that the sight of something beautiful should make me sad.
A delicate and tender flower grows without my sunlight, without my soil.
I have stayed out of the garden all year long, distracted by other things.
Now, in Spring, I have returned with undue bravado to that very bloom.
The hammer of beauty falls heavy on the unwise, and harder than ever.
The flower cannot know that my absence has made it stronger.
That it is with love that my black thumb has been withheld.
I should not return like this to cast a poisoned look upon the very thing I love the most.

And so I will walk, and walk. Everywhere but the garden.


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