Dried Flowers

Dried Flowers


I’ve worn the masks
of the good wife,
  the ardent lover,
    the whore to your needs.

I've drunk your monotony
    and fragrant damnation
pretending
that the shadows
cast by your promises
    were more than illusion.

I've tasted your hollow words
    as they desiccate my soul.

Though I've tried to nurture
the seeds of hope...
    my tears evaporate
            in your desert of emotions.

Nothing grows now;
I watch as hope withers to
nothing more than
    dried flowers
          pressed between
              memory's pages.

An entry for the May/June round of "Rebel Poetry Contest" 
Prompt: 1
Line limit: None
Line count: 22
Form: Free Verse  


Thank you Cinn for the inspiration (neither an inside nor outside joke and to Christopher Roy Denton for finding the missing link.