The Black Orchid

A black Orchid confined,
to its bed, held in artificial
bloom, on life support.
With its epitaph ordered,
a wooden box carved and crafted.
Now enclosed with garrisoned guilt carried eternal.
It will be embalmed, protected,
delivered to the ground.
It drinks no more, then it passes forth
forever to taste soil.
Confined to dirt most weary
as it is reintroduced to its creator
in the final echoes, of a twenty one gun salute
Bang, pause, bang.

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3 thoughts on “The Black Orchid”

    1. Thanks for the comment, I like the final lines to and its hard to belive that the original was in my folder marked rubbish.So it got a rewrite this morning, your welcome for the follow

  1. Oh, I have loads and loads and loads more in my “rubbish” file! lol. But, as one of my best uni tutors ever said, “never throw anything out”… And I add to that, “even if it makes me cringe to read it now…” 😉

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