A Rose and Its Thorn

Before the faint feathered light of dawn becomes airborne and the world around me lies hushed in peaceful slumber I often ruminate on the rose and its weaponry of a thorn equating them to thoughts that both please and encumber I delve deeply into my soul where passion has been worn How resplendent the petals of a bloomed dew-kissed rose Velvet to my finger's touch, in its long-stemmed splendor Like tender blessings I receive as I reflect in quiet repose the echoes pulsing within my heart, in grateful surrender It's there I remember whispers of love and its tragic woes Uninvited comes the sting of thorns; my cause for bleeding Deep scratches that inflict mordant worry and sullen pains but never have they breached my stoic faith by misleading my heart to cast asperse shadows of scars and bloodstains on the life of this servant who for God's mercy is pleading I hear the love song of a wood thrush, calling to its mate Through a window glows golden glimmers of morning sun I'm imbued by a breath of warmth, garnered as I meditate on the generous gift of a new day, sovereignly being spun I humble myself through life's rivers that I must navigate 6/24/20 Reflection in Silence Poetry