The Blood-Red Rose: Awaits the Hand of God

Across the tulip white snow to the Cerulean horizon That’s seemingly infinite Like the beginnings of pure black ink on an absent, cloud white page stands/pricks out a picturesque blood-red rose Adorned with the sharpest of thrones Apart and alone And as unfathomable/incomprehensible as it may seem As unaccustomed to probability that it is This rose alone sprang forth and dug through The cold-blooded splendor and majesty of winter’s crowning achievement of unadulterated snow Alone/existing apart from the normalcy of reality Endeavoring to resist/exist beyond the conformalcy Sprouted fourth a rose as hungry as Summer’s glorious blazing ball of fire As thirsty as springs abundance and life quenching desire: To bring Forth The adamant/vigilant need Screams upon screams upon screams Numerous and faithful as a prosperous field of overflowing dandelion seeds Comes forth confident words: I must exist as who I am A warrior's cry into the blank abyss of Winter’s scape From a blank canvas stretching forever into the future to reap: The Blood-Red/Blood Dripping Rose’s Harvest Awaits the Hand of God...