9 December 2014

Little Red Sapling (Poem)

The inspiration for my poem, taken on The University of Exeter's Streatham Campus

How do you cling to beauty,
When the rain tries to 
Wash it out of you?
Sometimes it seeks to drown, too,
Salted tears will tear down from
The sky that does not want you. 

You red is too foreign here -
It has no place among the throng
Of earthen autumn eyes.
Those bodies stood like sentinels.
A uniformity disturbed
By tinted rose acrylic. 

They save this for the fallen -
The sleeves they shed when 
White winds turn, which no
Life spring can save.  

You mock their mourning
In your technicolor coat. 
You place it too high and desert
The ground soil for the sky. 
You are wings with no 
Body to hold. 

To them you are a sapling,
And they weave you a crown
From dried daises - 
Deriding your difference.
In this chain of choked dreams, 
They make you a pariah.
You and your sordid religion. 

Yet no crown hides the 
Crimson coat. 
You haunt
         and hurt
      and never hide
                         in heretic hues.

They cannot wash it out of you,
Who clings to beauty. The sky 
cannot drown out your skin. 

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