Listen to poem:
The Inviolate Bloom
Written: July 26, 2026 for a contest sponsored by Kerry Bernatchez
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Tremulous in twilight,
a stark white rose casts its gentle shadow—
stone silence clasped in green sheaths,
ochre strokes encasing the sturdy stem.
Faint scent of rain still cleaving to its rims.
It quaffs the dusk,
a sashay of petals—
sedate yet salient,
a stitched seam of sorrow and solace.
A dream of a ruby lotus floating in the air,
yet anchored in its stony stillness.
The stalk cold, slick with evening dew.
The intricate lattice of its form,
Tuscan citrine veins shine below pale skin,
whispers in the gale breeze,
as sequins of dew drip in dawn crown.
A single thorn pricks the curious hand.
Worn whispers weave—
this bloom tempers its sorrow,
an understated harbinger,
a cold stream of light,
a haunting melody in delicate dawn.
Its shadow sprawls long across the stone.
It velvet-crowns without voice,
silent edicts without sound.
Its soil below—a crawling mound,
each drifter pricked by its unique touch,
each spirit wrapped in its holy sheen,
their breath frozen at the sight of its iron flower.
And still—in magenta dusk,
as twilight trembles again,
ochre horizons drape bloom in close patina.
Valves sway in an amber light—
shivering,
sloping,
glowing,
in shadowed creases of wanton time.
The lone white head holds its timeless place:
its fragrance floats, faint but firm in falling air—
a sacred ring of rest,
a solemn vow of hope,
a single rose gleaming in gloom.
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