There, the inner feeling was.

Above the Chase’s subway,
float across,
in the letters of a name start-
ing to wilt, to droop, to drop,
like spilt, fallen fruit,
from soursop,
on the right-hand side from,
the northside of chartreuse moss,
where a life in bloom was lost.

There, the bitter feeling was.

Emanating on the stiffening,
chalky frost,
suffered in those cordiform,
flower petals, all,
lain by loving, shapely hearts,
as frozen verge and benches,
sat exhaust,
seem to empathise,
in iced embossed,
where a budding scion crop-
ped, before his time to rise,
was coldly taken, took, and gone.

Now, evermore,
his spirit fluoresces on,
casting floret light o’er,
this place unthawed,
which became his:
mortal bed and plot.

There, the inner, bitter feeling was.

Before his soulful soil is turned to sod.

And, the only blades become grass,
become gladiolus.

Growing from sorrow’s turf.

Where a life in bloom was lost.


© poormansdreams


https://www.nottinghampost.com/news/nottingham-news/new-investigation-opens-death-st-10682613

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