by Melindy Wynn-Bourne
Her fingers, torn from shards of glass
Reached out and grasped a tuft of grass,
Each blade tipped with a crimson drop.
Since then, the green-hued grass did stop
It’s growth to give a streak of red
To mark where she laid her head.
Amid the scarlet fronds, a light
Comes from the blossoms. Glowing, white
Against the night seems pale and stark
And cuts a ray of light into the dark.
Illuminates the narrow lane,
The curve invisible in rain
Marked by this one fragile rose
Opens as another one draws close.
Melindy Wynn-Bourne is a freelance writer and poet living in Mississippi. Her flash fiction pieces have been published in the Gemini magazine and in the Sixth Annual Ultra Short Edition of the Binnacle Magazine. When she's not writing, she enjoys reading, photography and listening to music.
At the spot where she
once laid
As heartbeat stopped and
life did fadeHer fingers, torn from shards of glass
Reached out and grasped a tuft of grass,
Each blade tipped with a crimson drop.
Since then, the green-hued grass did stop
It’s growth to give a streak of red
To mark where she laid her head.
Amid the scarlet fronds, a light
Comes from the blossoms. Glowing, white
Against the night seems pale and stark
And cuts a ray of light into the dark.
Illuminates the narrow lane,
The curve invisible in rain
Marked by this one fragile rose
Opens as another one draws close.
Melindy Wynn-Bourne is a freelance writer and poet living in Mississippi. Her flash fiction pieces have been published in the Gemini magazine and in the Sixth Annual Ultra Short Edition of the Binnacle Magazine. When she's not writing, she enjoys reading, photography and listening to music.
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