Interlaced like the threads
The colours and patterns
Are verified by the skills
Of the weaver
Just like love that grew
Like a flower
And had been ripped off
Close to its height of
Flowering
Just tasted its sweetness
Remained to the lovers
And he
Fallen into another trap
Of a honey pot
Like a drunken insect
Into Venus of devouring
Flowers.
But his dream to taste her
Again
When he returned
After a life of adventure
Seemed close
But as closer he sensed
To get to her
The further she drifted
Away.
DRIFT.TFIRD
zoltanzelan
ZJG-POetry’19.
