tigerlily

the trills rise up the tree
the chords run free
in the forest of sounds there is no god
but what type of tree am i?
yew.
with bark the color of whey
thin and delicate as hemophiliac blood
and all the nits scramble and wonder
and wander the abyss of reason
but only in the early season
the season in between winter and spring

this season is bipolar
she is cold
warm she grows
she tilts the earth
but she is strung as well
the leaves grow
the snow is melted away
she exhales with icy breath
but just as soon hot wind is exerted from her pores

there is a bluebell ringing in the grass
the cerulean waves springing from her stem

i squint as i look at the sunflower
her rays are murdering my cornea
and i dare not touch her for she would scorch my pianoman hands

the dandelion prances in the garden
his manly mane so electrifying and handsome
the dandelion roars in the corners of the green

but his true enemy awaits in the hidden trenches of the field
the savage tigerlily stalks its prey

-Pamplemousse