A Rose

You hoped she'd be strong like an agave; instead, she bruised easily like a rose, feelings like silken petals carelessly scattered along paths she finally chose. Full of daydreams, she was given her room to search until able to find her roots. Her step hesitant among other blooms she followed, unthinkingly, larger shoots. One day you lost her in morning's cool mist hidden among thorns and those growing wild. Was your care not sweet as a lover's kiss? Or, was another keeping her beguiled? She was barely herself on many days, her eyes emblazoned by powerful lust. Poppy dust became her truest soulmate, the only bloom she was able to trust. If the rose was yours to love, not to grieve, would you allow her now to grow so free? Or, instead, place a cage around her leaves, stifling her inner spontaneity? A thousand painful nights you ask yourself; the answer possibly you'll never know. Do You relive memories scene by scene, until it becomes a bitter tableau? She needed more days to live and enjoy the good times that are now left unspoken. time to grow into a majestic bush before her stem bent, finally broken. You thought, as other parents may have done, all blossoms grow stronger in warm sunlight. Yet some are withered by the noonday sun; some perish quietly in a moonless night. She was a soft and delicate flower prone to bruises, yet eager to appease. On a summer's night, she silently left: a faded blossom on a gentle breeze.