Sunday, March 27, 2016

mary's Rose

The vine on the lattice twisted,
the thorns circled
the flower,
opened like
flayed flesh,
deep crimson fissures.

Behold, the rose,
grown from a tender shoot,
close to the end
but larger in death
than in budding adolescence.

The wind blew
and the petals fell
to the ground
like drops of blood
to sate the thirsty earth
and live beyond death.

Somehow these petals
lift the ground’s curse
even as fresh flowers
flourish on the same lattice-work.

mary’s Rose
by troy cady

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