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...
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