Dahlia

The heart of Dahlia
was a palace and a garden
her dreams of him
swollen by rain
as storms brewed in the sky
horses fled
a plague swept
across the land
many dead.

Dahlia was a princess
daughter of a king
Alone and fragmented
her heart twisted by tears
dark trees
ravens by the towers
graves upturned by wind
brave men long gone.

Dahlia wanted to kill
the ones who broke her
and release herself from turmoil
and despite that
she carried her gold-handled knife.
In a gown of white silk
cold and shivering
she, Dahlia, wept and felt
unnerved by her untrained skills.

Fire burned on the hill
and her dream came true.
She put down her knife and drew
deep breaths so as not
to feel afraid.
Now she would not kill
herself
or
her pain.
The man of her wants came
and lifted her away
carrying her to
somewhere clear and full.

Dahlia wanted to know
why all the suffering
what was it for?
Her lover said:
"To build your strength."
In all women are the stones
and metals of anger and rage
but intelligence and bravery
found first in pain
whether it be
childbirth or loss.
Sometimes joy makes it glow.
As always, that is a gift.

(This was a poem I wrote last year.)