Tremors, Truth
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
The rosebuds start faint flutters with the flow
Of liquid from the roots toward’s heaven’s eye.
They shiver with the prophecy. They glow
(Though inwardly) beneath a scented sky
Ordaining petals, rituals of sun
And liquid from below. The tiny quake
Inside the green of fingers has begun.
These sepals hold incipient shapes that shake
With their imagined fragrance, shiver with
The hope perfumes in daydreams throb to be.
The quivering and shuddering make myth
Come true, fulfilling flowering gods’ decree.
These tremblings do not falter. They vibrate.
Late April laws suffice the petals’ fate.
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