<<<~~~>>>
Gently, he grasps her veined and trembling hands
as he gazes into her once bright and dancing blue eyes.
She stares at him blankly with no memory.
She is slowly becoming one with the shadows and forgotten time -
of days long gone when she laughingly ran through strawberry fields
and picked bouquets of cobalt blue forget-me-nots.
Today he has brought her a bouquet of forget-me-nots.
He places it in her once perfectly manicured hands.
She smiles, and for a moment she is standing surrounded by strawberry fields.
She knows him from somewhere; there is something about his eyes.
But she cannot recall his name, the place, or time.
Yet she finds herself staring at him and smiling at a fleeting memory.
He has done everything he can to keep alive even the smallest memory.
He always brings her something, but nothing compares to bouquets of forget-me-nots.
He knows that the moments are precious, for they are running out of time.
As he helps her out of her chair, the late springtime beauties fall from her hands.
She lets out a gasp and tears stream from her eyes.
“Shhh…Don’t worry. Let’s walk. We can find more in the fields.”
He guides her carefully down the sterile corridor as they walk to the “fields.”
As they slowly make their way, he talks. If he can keep alive just one memory…
If recognition for a moment can register in her vacant eyes,
he will buy her hundreds of bouquets of forget-me-nots.
All along this well-worn route, they never let go of each other’s hands.
And he silently, albeit foolishly, prays that he might be granted the power to stop time.
They find a small bench in the garden and sit for a time.
“Look! Do you see them? The strawberries are ready for picking in the fields.”
She looks up, but she shakes her head and covers her face with her hands.
“Remember when we stole some of your father’s homemade hooch? Oh! The memory!
We drank the whole bottle - surrounded by mosquitoes, berries, and forget-me-nots.”
She looks up towards him, and he swears to himself that there is recognition in her eyes.
He keeps talking and reminiscing; she listens, but he can tell her eyes
are becoming heavy and soon, too soon, there will no longer be any time.
“We drank the wine, and then I picked you a bouquet of forget-me-nots.
Afterwards, we ran like hell – so nobody would catch us in those fields.
But it didn’t matter because we would always have that memory
of that day, what I asked you, and what I held so tightly in my hands…”
Once again she is roused, and she turns her eyes to him and then to the fields.
For a moment the ravages of time have loosened their grip on her vanishing memory:
She remembers his face and the forget-me-nots: “Yes, I will,” she whispers, as she pats his now trembling hands…
<<<~~~>>>
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| Writing Prompt |
Write a love poem without using the words love, kiss, romance, soul,heart,boyfriend, girlfriend, husband wife or sexual terms. |
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Love Poem
Contest Winner
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Author Notes
The above poem is a Sestina:
A sestina is a fixed form in poetry that has six stanzas of six lines each followed by a three-line stanza; each line ends with one of six words in a standard repetition. These six words are chosen by the poet, but must be repeated in a certain order for the poem to qualify as a sestina. The pattern is thus:
1 2 3 4 5 6
6 1 5 2 4 3
3 6 4 1 2 5
5 3 2 6 1 4
4 5 1 3 6 2
2 4 6 5 3 1
(6 2) (1 4) (5 3)
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