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
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