A Rose Never So Simple
folder
Poetry › Free Verse
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
546
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Poetry › Free Verse
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
546
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of poetry. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
A Rose Never So Simple
A Rose Never So Simple As It Would Seem
I wake up to the smell of Roses,
Knowing the day will not be pleasant.
I watch them bloom,
Mocking me with their supposed innocent beauty.
They sit upon my nightstand,
Awaiting my return to consciousness.
So alive in the brilliance of their colorful plumage.
An assortment of hues.
All dazzling in the morning sunlight.
Only I can see them for what they truly are.
The images and reminders of my past that they invoke.
I see through to the meaning he means me to glean from their presence.
A Red Rose is naught but a Black Rose bathed in the blood of those I have betrayed.
A Black Rose once was white,
Darkened by the bleakness of my soul.
A Yellow Rose, bright in it's accusation of cowardice.
Cowardice in betraying my Savior.
Orange to signal the day I lost all hope of forgiving myself.
Pink to signal the day he understood and granted me forgiveness.
Pink. An innocent love for all things.
All of them attached to long green stems.
Reminding me of the way I envy him his ability to die.
For that I envy him most.
Then envy that burns in my heart blackens the White Rose of my purity.
Just as it has blackened my soul.
…Oh what a fool this immortal be,
To not accept a Pink Rose, offered by the hand of Christ.
I wake up to the smell of Roses,
Knowing the day will not be pleasant.
I watch them bloom,
Mocking me with their supposed innocent beauty.
They sit upon my nightstand,
Awaiting my return to consciousness.
So alive in the brilliance of their colorful plumage.
An assortment of hues.
All dazzling in the morning sunlight.
Only I can see them for what they truly are.
The images and reminders of my past that they invoke.
I see through to the meaning he means me to glean from their presence.
A Red Rose is naught but a Black Rose bathed in the blood of those I have betrayed.
A Black Rose once was white,
Darkened by the bleakness of my soul.
A Yellow Rose, bright in it's accusation of cowardice.
Cowardice in betraying my Savior.
Orange to signal the day I lost all hope of forgiving myself.
Pink to signal the day he understood and granted me forgiveness.
Pink. An innocent love for all things.
All of them attached to long green stems.
Reminding me of the way I envy him his ability to die.
For that I envy him most.
Then envy that burns in my heart blackens the White Rose of my purity.
Just as it has blackened my soul.
…Oh what a fool this immortal be,
To not accept a Pink Rose, offered by the hand of Christ.