Thursday, January 3, 2013

Petals of the Fallen

This was written by my step-daughter, Hannah Denham.

Gone, but never forgotten - in honor of the twenty flowers who entered heaven's gates December 14, 2012.

Petals of the Fallen

 I came across the Painter today
His gently worn hands were spattered with flecks
of exuberant colors and hues

He used a cloud for a canvas
Red from passion mixed with the purity of white
for the pink of childhood's rosy cheeks

Dipping his fingers in the green
from virescence of recurring life,
he romanced the image to the skies

"What are you painting?"
I asked the bearded Man
with brown eyes that pierced the soul

He said not a word as his fingers worked
but I took no offense at his silence
and watched as his answer took form

Stalks of green were coaxed to the skyline
One, two, three, I counted
and when creation was complete, there were twenty

Pink blooms smeared the white space
above the stems, painted
not with precision, but untouched beauty

But then the Artist's expression changed.
Deep and anguished sadness
engraved the creases of his face

The white of the canvas turned black
with the darkening of the horizon
and the upheaval of the skies

And then it rained.
The sky opened, its quiet tears disappearing
into the shadow of uprooted innocence

I had forgotten the painter was next to me
until he exhaled into the mist, and
droplets of grief hastened from his whisper

He brushed his fingers once more
into the green of vitality,
sprouting life from the petals of the fallen

It occurred to me then -
though cut off from its source of survival
the essence of each blossom lives on.

From the rain of suffering, and from the tears shed
each spirit can grow, be revivified in the form
of a future in remembrance of the original twenty seeds.

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