A Tale Of What I Am

A Sonnet for Cynthia, who dislikes the word, 'I', in poetry


What I am composes not dissimilar
As a rose preposes and presents
Countless millennium encloses what we are
Embodied from thin veils of tears
Aborning light years of aching feet and limbs
Evolution of breaking hearts joyful vessels
Beholding memories into leaves and branches
Bud and petal release longing in subtle
Presentation of Eros mother Pathos
The Garden curls within the edifice of civilization
The genesis of flesh bone and flower
Expressed in inexorable warmth of creation

What I am composes not unfamiliar
As a rose reposes and unfurls itself
In folds and furrows of endless pastel sky
Roots dreamt deep in the loam of land
shadows and light held fast by yearning
A thousandfold hymns distilled blended
And infused among sorrowful souls passing by
Each insufferable journey bound for bliss
In triumphant Beauty in the mystery
Fragile as sensate fleeting petals we dwell
Such tactile strength spawns fragrance
Arising from the Pure and Noble in us all

Aspires and transmits our kind into blossom
Everlasting testimony-stems a rose a tale of what I am

Phillip Michael Sawatzky

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-tale-of-what-i-am/