Twisted petals of forget-me-nots
leave calloused hands unheld.
Dreaming days are never over,
not with love-laced words witheld.
Sky searching, soul stripping virgins
hope that God will say his grace.
The shining reflections of evergreens
imprint the image of Glory's face
In the minds of the damned, we are tangled,
and all other lifelines have long been mangled.
I've picked every forget-me-not in your garden
but you seem to have forgotten what happened
among the very flowers you grew.
So now, I'll hope that God will say his grace.
Monica O'Connor
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/forget-me-not-31/
