Deep within the seeds,
fright grows as poppies erupt
blood-red through dark mud.
She picks the flowers.
They die slowly in her grasp.
Their scent fading fast.
As poppies wither
through the night, she dreams of death –
invites him to bed.
With cold hands, he holds
her tight, and she gasps for breath.
Take me now, she says.
As he moves inside,
her heart slows. She shuts her eyes.
One last kiss. She’s his.
Since ancient times, poppies have been symbolic of sleep and death. Opium, which is extracted from the pods, is a sedative. The flower’s crimson color superbly ties in with blood and death. Poppies were offered as alms to the dead in Greek and Roman mythology. During WWI, the flowers were mementos to soldiers who died during battle. Beautiful and macabre, the red blossoms were introduced into children’s literature in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy and her friends were placed in a poppy field and nearly succumbed to an infinite slumber.
Poem By Poet Rummager
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Rose’s haiku poems were inspired by Inese’s brilliant post, Secrets.
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