The Rose

How easy it is to rub

Against eternity,

To fall back bruised.

 

A rose’s sides,

Tarnished by

Indifference.

 

Close encounter with

The unseen,

Love unknown to itself.

 

Beauty unbeknownst to

Its maker,

Scraped away by winter’s

Face.

 

Smoked away in summer,

Bent below its full potential.

 

A spring to perk up its

Stalk,

Autumn to bed the petals.

 

A soft voice to caress,

The heavy drone to blow down.

 

Beneath its center,

A world of wakefulness,

The above universe

Swirling into regret.

 

A farmer to tend its

Beauty,

A city man to trample

Its petals.

 

In the light of day,

Risen to a great new height,

Basked in the glory of God

Once more.

One thought on “The Rose

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