Passion Be The Colour Indigo { A Metaphorical Verse }

Bleeding-out its xylem sap, phloem oozing from the heart, of the thick barked wetwood- negotiating crooked grooves with carved pressed spiral; a slow and painful death succumbs to winters rot, and the forest grieves its friend for a moment, then moves on; so hard and cold can passion be. Deep within our vascular streams we bleed in darkest indigo thru' the brooks of our narrowed veins, in rivers of bloody blue, like the wounded heart, breathless, 'less the flesh breaks open air, transmuting like a chameleon... to the dark of the darkest reds. Holding-cell for passion the human heart be, harbouring warmth within its bundle branches; hot pulse melting dry ice lament, the sting, immeasurabally maddening as the heart battles love's inertia, 'til faith affords loves sweetest flame, and sadness be but memories, to the moist, verdant buddings- of springs freshened breeze ushering in- bringing forth, passions renaissance. Frank J. Ryan, Jr. Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved