Wednesday, June 16, 2010

White...

She held fast to the white petaled flower
She clutched it hard in her hand
She treasured it every minute, every hour
It was the real thing not the contraband

The beautiful petals hang firmly on the stalk
The white complimenting the green
The white shining in the rays of the sun round the clock
The white its rich, pure and clean

The white petals soft to the touch
She felt as she touched the flower to her cheek
Gentle and tender, velvet and such
She sought for such others to pick

The white petals returning her gaze
returning her smile
Like they read into her soul maze
igniting her sense of style

Maybe the white was drawing her
closer and closer to her destiny
Maybe the white was deluding her
taking her further and further into her enchanted spree

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