It seems like I died,
I died on my way back.
My body collapsed,
And got buried deep under bed.
The stars and moon gathered for my last rites.
The Moon held my stains in craters confined.
The stars stole my faded glow and shined.
The clouds soaked my tears
And sobbed in rain,
The sky wore my clothes
And painted a rainbow at night.
The soil ate my bones
And raised a pond with swans,
The birds swallowed my cords
And chirped twice.
The graveyard bloomed
Into a sacred thorn.
Yes, it seems like I died,
But now everything’s bright.
Death isn’t an escape from troubles,
weak hearts do prefer it.
Human souls aren’t water bubbles
meant to fly, burst and quit.
On this earth we are born
to harvest our own corn
plucking out every thorn.
Always be in shape ~
Death isn’t an escape.
1st Place
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh, Jesus, I wanted to be like you~
to bleed
without flinching,
to kneel in the dust
and mean it.
Instead, I clutch
my own crown,
not of thorns
but of ego and want~
sharp, crooked,
never quite fitting.
They told me salvation
was nails,
but my hands
are soft,
my wrists
unbroken.
I whisper forgive me
to an empty room,
and the silence
answers: Try harder.
Unfortunate isn't it
That we only see a roses beauty
Once its been plucked away
Torn from it's roots
Shaven thorns
Simply there for
self preservation
Put up nicely in a bouquet
to look like the rest
But as for me,
I will kiss your thorns
I will leave you at home
You don't belong to me
Calm is strength.
Silence says everything.
Bend, don’t break.
Healed, not hiding.
They didn’t see me coming—
because I never
needed to announce
myself.
Softened, not shrank.
My silence
wasn’t surrender—
it was strategy.
I became too whole
to fit inside
their opinions.
My strength
is a river—
steady, shaping stone.
Not loud,
just unshakable.
I wear peace
like armor.
My crown
is quiet,
but it shines.
I held my fire—
and lit the way.
They built walls;
I planted roots.
They looked down.
I looked within.
I never needed noise
to matter.
I did
what I wanted.
A Rose it’s long stem I hold,
close to the rose to not to spike my heart on its thorn..
A dozen roses lay beneath my cold beaten soul, the winds blowing cold harsh winds, roses blow away swept to the deserving souls in which he teaches within HIS church’s walls.
No laughter smiles heartfelt conversation I hear, he’s been sequestered inside our Saviors grasp up into the mountain to pray, Jesus chosen few, darkness falls upon thus unforgiving ground.
I slowly quietly lift my beaten scolded body down into the abyss, where the undeserving lie, waiting for a miracle to save them, no mercy dare come thus far, much like the unsheltered in this city fallen to despair, hate, darkness is now our reality.
My soft place to fall is gone, I prick my finger upon the rose thorn, much like our Saviors blood upon the cross flows, but my “friend” the mountain, “it is Gods will, my breath has stopped, I’ve bled for my own sins against my “friend” I ask you now, “will He come honor my Cross?”
The roses blanket my limp body, “every rise has its thorns”..
You think, it's very sweet,
You think,it's very beautiful,
You think, it's cruel World's defeat,
You think, it's win from something fearful.
Don't know, it's sometimes a false,
Don't know, it's sometimes lose,
Don't know, it's sometimes death cause,
Don't know, it's sometimes black-rose.
When someone wear love's throne
Not know about destiny, not about looting,
But when it becomes a betray seems like thorn,
Never trust again never get in falling.
Everything seems false even emotions
Noone good,then but only remain devotions.
eyes dazed by magenta blaze
skin torn by piercing thorn
blood drop tickles zinc hole in morn
she knows her season is done
a petaling head will droop under afternoon’s Sun
abundance is a prime piano note
•¥¥•
frugal the piano notes sound
her head erect at midday
her season embraces her
with blood bleeding through as blush
her skin translucent calls
magenta gaze closes lids
Do you
Think
They noticed me?
I mean
I noticed
Them
Perfectly
Perfect
The epitome
Of beauty
Without lifting a finger
Their skin
As clear
As my delusions
Why did I
Pick
This dress?
How did I
Walk out of the house
With the smile of “I look pretty”?
They must think
This bow in my hair
Looks idiotic
Plus the
Holding my sweater
In front of me
To hide
My not
Spindly frame
Do you
Think
They noticed me?
I mean
How could I
Not notice them?
Their plates
Were never
Full
So I
Overflowed a napkin
And made sure to throw it away
Or cleaned up
My lipstick in the bathroom a few times
If I did cave in
If I left now
Do you think
They’ll notice me?
Like
Leave
And not say anything?
They definitely wouldn’t
Notice me
Then
Another oath I’ve sworn,
Another spoken lie.
Any way to home,
Court me into a door open wide.
Another totem born,
Another standing so high.
Another day,
Another poem,
Thoughts come in the form of rhyme.
Rows of corn,
Pleased to be born,
Taught to stand in line.
Thoughts worn and dry,
Fields seem forlorn,
Ought to stand and comply.
Grown with a thorn caught to my side,
I Seemed scorned,
But I fought not to die.
I let the thorn haunt me,
Caught witching my mind.
I left my oath to naught,
Gears switching in my mind.
thorn bug looks like thorn
her camouflage is perfect
mimicking nature
I wish you stars, but not the darkness they need to shine.
I wish you clouds, but not the tears they pour.
I wish you roses, but never their thorns.
And I wish you love–
but not me.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust”,
The minister intoned, dismissing us.
Embraced and patted, pitying looks from all.
Letting go of my rose, the last to fall.
Thorns pricked my finger, a drop of blood dripped down…
… in the hole where mother's body is buried in the ground.
The grown ups seem to know exactly what to do.
But I feel so lost, so lost without you.
I escape all the mourners by sneaking out the back.
I climb the hill beyond my house, a well known track.
Sitting on the stump that lends the best view,
I heard a rustling in the bush, and caught my first glimpse of you!
Tattered ears and dirty fur, but glorious and lush it must be…
…Once you've been given care, and had a few meals maybe.
You were unafraid, though i think you'd been given reason
to be leery of people, but instead you squeeze in...
...beside my sitting stump, tail wagging and tongue hanging wet.
You seemed to know I was sad and you came to me to pet.
I obliged, and found my arms thrown round your neck so tight!
I cried into your smelly coat, and felt you cared, that maybe
everything would be alright.
You don't ever pierce
Though your look is fierce
Each rose is safe in your hold.
Green snakes scroll around.
Flies move with no sound
In heat and cold, you stand bold.
As rose buds feel dread
Your sharp claws you spread
Are you their unseen backbone?
Each rose fades and falls
When Time, from far, calls
Do you mourn for them alone?
In hushed greenhouses, a marvel grows,
A pilgrimage for those who know:
A rose unmarred by nature's thorns,
Its beauty is pure, as morning dawns.
I dreamed of its stem, a silken cord,
Coiled gently around my hands, unexplored.
My garden once bristled with spiky guards,
Till obsession smoothed those prickly shards.
From root to tip, I bred them bare,
Strength redefined in petals fair.
If thorns meant power, then power's changed,
In vulnerability, strength rearranged.
This thornless bloom, a rare delight,
Wields beauty like a beacon bright.
Its petals unfurl, a gentle shield,
Revealing truths long concealed.
When touched, it stands, unharmed and tall,
A flower-warrior, breaking thrall
From old beliefs of strength through pain,
Its peaceful stance is a greater gain.
In dreams, I graft this wonder's stem
To roses in my garden's hem.
Together we walk through skeptics' sneers,
Our smoothness calms ancient fears.
Behold the power of gentleness,
In this rose's thornless dress.
A testament to nature's art:
True strength blooms from an open heart.
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