God's Grey Earth

Gray
In every direction.
No Difference can surface.
Each mountain top one
Thousand feet high, littered
With dead
Gray trees.
Each scene the same
Except for one, single
Budding rose surrounded
By the gray patch that
Climbs up the peaked
Mountain top.
Its coarse petals begging to
Spread far and wide,
Add life to the
Dull tones surrounding.

It may not be the florist’s pick
For a rose. No, its beauty does
Not come from gleaming carmine petals.
Rather from the undertones of white and pink
That sprout about the ends of the
Petals. Its healthy green stem - dashed with maroon
Spurs which keep its beauty untouched -
Challenge the gray roots that are sunken
Into the guiding mountain side.

This rose holds an ability
Which no others can claim:
It begs to be different.
One day this emergent
Rose will surpass even
The mountain top.

For now, being different is enough.
In time however, this rose will crave
And reach to grow, surpass the bush
It entangles itself with. Being different
Will no longer be enough,
Being seen for what it is –
Taller than the mountains,
More vibrant than any gray tone,
A protective barrier keeping it sacred –
Will be the only acceptable recognition.





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