Every Rose Knows a Story

An old poem of mine. One of the few that is not complete rubbish from high school.

Shadows shift. Petals fall.
Time goes by in slow withdrawals
Steadily stripping each crimson lobe
From a stem that won’t be held
By tender hands such as these are.
Thorns will pierce; this beauty mar.
Scarlet bandages, crimson wounds
Scars made and hidden by the same bloom.
It’s joy and pain that keeps them here
Where they’ve been this whole past year.
Here they will stay to watch these eyes
Fill and spill in quiet demise,
As thorns pierce the tenderest part…
The steadily living and beating heart.
They’ll watch also, tears splash down
That fall from a heart where joy abounds.
As roses fill these eyes with love
Soft and gentle but bold enough.