Thorn on mighty stem
broken from the bow,
blood red leaves fold within
and whither slowly unto now.
In the rose’s final hour
the last leaf falls upon the floor,
and as a tear falls down upon it
the rose blossoms nevermore.
I wrote this a few years ago. Now that I look back at it, it reminds me a bit of Nothing Gold Can Stay, the famous poem by Robert Frost. I’m pretty sure that poem is my personal inspiration for writing this, although I didn’t realize it at the time. In telling you this, I find myself transported back to Pony Boy reading that poem to Johnny in The Outsiders. Reading S. E. Hinton was my first introduction to that specific piece of poetry, and I have been in love with it ever since. “Stay gold, Pony Boy.”
Posted in Poetry and Other Short Things and tagged death, endings, poem, poetry, Pony Boy, rose, S. E. Hinton, stay gold, The Outsiders by S. D. Galloway with no comments yet.
One of my favorite authors once said that the written word is a form of telepathy, of transference of ideas through thoughts and mental images. Right now, you and I are having a meeting of the minds. I hope you enjoy what is to follow.
Posted in After Hours and Other Ramblings by S. D. Galloway with no comments yet.