Rose Wound
There was a time for fisted buds with just a tease of red—
the promises you kept inside with so much soft and scent,
the layers squeezed that longed to lead—
How could I know it then?
From buried seed to petal bleed you tore your sepal skin
and blossomed an epiphany unfolding in the wind.
Your movement, always opening to overflowing heart,
opening and widening, a dance of flowing scarves.
I never dreamed I’d see the seed—my alpha and my end,
as one by one your petals fell, my rose, my love, my friend.
Why do we blame the thorns for pain? They’ve never caused me grief.
But oh, the beauty of the rose, in petals at my feet.
2nd Place in Gren's Evergreens (Golden Oldies) # 3 Poetry Contest
Contest Judged: 6/24/2016 4:22:00 AM
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