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Best Poems Written by Rose Kelly

Below are the all-time best Rose Kelly poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Rose Kelly Poem

Sensitivity

Every step she takes rocks her world. 
A butterfly is a dragon. 
Life is a beast that must be slain. 
It rips her heart apart with its cruel fangs
Leaving a red raw wound. 
The pain is so immense that she can hardly stand
Every touch is a branding. 
It burns a mark on her heart that cannot be erased. 
She cares too much. 
She would crawl through hell
She would bang on the gates of heaven
for those she loves. 
But love means pain.
Love is the brand that marks her heart. 
Life shreds, love burns
but existence without them would be empty. 
So the pain is a gift.

Details | Rose Kelly Poem

Valentines Day

I hate February 14th. 
Don’t give me affection, attention, or love. 
Leave me alone. 
I’d rather be cut by my own thorns than have my blossom crushed under the weight of abandonment. 
February 14th is when flowers and hearts are exchanged. 
I am a flower but don’t you dare touch me. Stay away from my heart. 
For years I poisoned my own soil. I watered it with blood. I fertilized it with insults. The flower that grew was a twisted thing that wilted in the sunlight. 
So, as soon as February 14th came, it was easy to pluck from the ground. He put it in a vase. 
The blossom was out of the soil but it was already dying. 
Discarded 
Fears rekindled
My construction paper heart was cut with a razor. 
But I still love him. 
It’s so stupid. 
February 14th has become stupid. 
Life must go on. He was an unfortunate pothole in the road. A mosquito bite, a scraped knee, a papercut. 
But if you call my heart, you’ll get a busy signal. 
I am hung up like a sodden winter coat, like a crayon drawing on a fridge, like laundry on a clothesline. 
I just want a hug but don’t touch me. 
I just want to know that I am loved but I won’t believe it. 
I just want respect but I hate myself. 
I just want to have company but leave me alone. 
I just hate February 14th.

Details | Rose Kelly Poem

Worries

How does a poet put his work on paper without pushing it away in disgust?
How does a man make a move without making a fool of himself?
How does a woman walk without worrying that she is being whispered about?
How does he hold his head high without hearing his head scream at him about his heinous acts? 
How do they avoid the sad sickening spiral of worry which whips me about like a flag in the wind?

Details | Rose Kelly Poem

Remember

Empires rise, cities fall. 
Soldiers march like ants swarming across the lands, wreaking havoc. 
But he still stands. 
Stone crumbles, rivers dry up. 
Young men wither like underwater plants. 
But he never changes 
The young girl’s hair turns grey
Plagues devour the population like hungry dragons belching blood and filth from their depths 
But he remains
The good is corrupted 
Men throw their battered broken bodies into the depths to escape the pain 
But he is benevolent
Lust burns men alive 
Idols devour sacrifices, craving blood and revelling in debauchery
But he is the sacrifice.
Grime and pestilence are inescapable
The roots of sin and shame grow, fed by the animalistic blood that flows in one’s veins.
But he is merciful 
War tears families apart 
Fatherless children cry out in agony to an empty sky
But he never leaves 
Winter freezes a loving heart 
Ice like glass cuts tender flesh 
But his eternal flame will heal you
Explosions light up the sky 
Tyrants rain fire and rage down on their slaves. 
But he rules forevermore 
Demons shriek 
The empty claws of despair drag the world further into the pit of death
But he dispels the darkness 
The coffin is nailed shut 
Trapped in the tomb, the body surrenders the warmth of life
But he is alive
Pagans feast as martyrs die
A river of blood flows ever onward to a red sea that never parts
But he is triumphant.

Details | Rose Kelly Poem

He Too

He too wept and shook while His friends slept. Fear, in the form of blood, seeping out of every pore.
He too cried out to His father, imploring him to take the pain away. 
He too was betrayed, mocked, forsaken, and beaten. 
He too was judged unfairly and condemned to death. 
He too fell beneath a great burden, apparently defeated by the darkness of the world.
He too was crushed by guilt. 
He too had marks on His arms and hands, deliberate marks of a deep hatred. These wounds were so that we could feel again; So that we could feel the love of His father. 
He too could hardly take a breath, much less move. 
He too asked why God had forsaken Him. 
He too willingly died, His life cut short by this cruel earth.  
He died so that we would not have to.
He bled so that our wrists would be unblemished
He was forsaken for the sake of our loneliness. 
He already took our shame and was punished on our behalf.
Was that not enough? 
Must one mark his wrists to complete his salvation?
Must one bleed to earn the love of God?

He too spent days dead and in a dark tomb. 
He too had to roll away a heavy stone to see the light. 
He too had scars. 
He showed us how to live. 
He did stay in the dark for a while but He rolled away the stone
He did die but He rose again.
Good Friday’s darkness was dispelled by the light of  Easter Sunday 
If you are dying inside, remember that He showed you how to rise again.