One In a Million

Hi. I'm Cella Mondegrine, CA student, Asian, thirteen. Lately, I've been getting these mysterious urges to go out and show my poetry to someone, which is why I started this blog. Hopefully, you'll like it. Feel free to comment, as long as it isn't profane. [Helpful criticism is fine.] I've been writing since I was eight, and though I wasn't that great when I started out, lately my tutor and family have been saying I should publish it. Anyway, enough rambling. This is my poem. It was inspired by Mr. Benedict, a song title, and a Dix-It card with red and white poppies on it.

One In a Million

A sea,

A cacophony,

Of dancing poppies

Under the sun.

Petals like silk

Fluttered like wings,

A host of butterflies-

All red, vivid red, crimson,

Blood pouring from the cliffs,

Into the jagged sea.

As if a thousand torches

Had been lit beneath,

It all glowed

Radiantly.

On the edge of the cliffs,

Hanging,

Just hanging,

To a weathered crumb

Of the sea’s leavings,

 A white poppy flickered.

Every now and then,

The wind picked it up

And sent it flying

This way or that,

So that it seemed any moment

The petals must relinquish their hold,

And go soaring off

Into the immense blue.

Poor plain petals,

Devoid of color,

Subsisting on the whimsy of the wind.

Sympathetic, perhaps,

Was the bedraggled man

Standing next to it,

Almost crushing it,

Lank hair flattened across

A face of remote misery.

Ah! Did he appear

Abrupt, almost rude

In your mental tableau

Of poppies, cliffs, sea and sun?

Perhaps he was unwelcome.

Perhaps he should have knocked?

I apologize.

Just the same was he

To his relatives and family,

To whom, I am afraid

He was nothing more than a nuisance.

You can be sure, however,

That he did not apologize to them-

Though he may have come close to it.

I am making up for it now.

Morose was the man,

Before the cruel reflections

Of glaring sun and sea.

It was lucky, perhaps,

That he was shielded by unwashed hair.

No sound came from him.

He would not have been heard

Above the cacophony of uncaring life.

One foot snuck into the air.

Haloed by vibrant blue,

It paused for a moment,

As if unwilling.

Then he toppled.

And with him,

Hooked by his foot,

The poppy fell also.