The Elysian Fields

Cut Flowers
July 17, 2005

Many have
sought after
the Nectar of the Gods,
such a sweet
sustaining drink
that has never been found;
I should think it
bittersweet at best,
unpalatable to the likes of us,
for the hummingbird, butterfly, and bee
sip at flowers of beauty unmatched
and we smile and pinch them off,
put them in a pitcher
to watch them wither and die,
much as we have done with the Gods of Old;
And thus they fall,
unrequited,
at the height of their glory
their purpose, their seed, prevented;
Upon a pedestal we stand them
and admire them from afar,
my how they light up the room,
a fragrance of the Heavens
wafting over our dinner table
or planted on the mantelpiece
above an altar of flame;
Their beauty forgotten in moments,
faded in between sips of bitter brew,
crushed by arguments and reason,
so steadfast and upright,
so grounded in reality
that beauty proves to be a fallacy,
and they wilt,
as We prophesied they would;
We seek for more
to fill the void left behind,
and with a snip
they are ours.

Copyright (c) 2005 Everett Ambrose Warren