Wilted Rose

July 17, 2016
By SmexyNapkin BRONZE, San Antonio, Texas
SmexyNapkin BRONZE, San Antonio, Texas
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

They compared our beauty to a rose
But my petals are scarred and I am bleak
I bend down, for my steam grows weak
And from that steam grows a thorn.
It’s so heavy for someone, so worn.
Still, I carry it for my child, unborn.

Is it possible for a rose to morn?
What if from the rose, a bud never grows—
Not forgotten; not for many years;
What if you still hold him within your mighty tears?

I’ve experienced something, I know every rose fears.
Just like a seed sown in the Earth, he lays, still, so loved
By someone so hurt . . .
And only this wilted rose will know
Of a child . . .
—that never got to blossom
—that never got to grow


The author's comments:

To my beautiful aunt Glory and anyone else who may find comfort within these words. I know that those thorns get heavy but rememeber they do not define you. The most beautiful rose carries the sharpest thorns.

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This article has 2 comments.

AprilALuna said...
on Jul. 21 2016 at 7:29 pm
Loved the tone and message conveyed in this poem. Nicely done.

AprilALuna said...
on Jul. 21 2016 at 7:22 pm
Nice. I loved the flow of this piece and the message it conveyed. Well done.


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