The Rose

An ode to the rose, which speaks in it's simple presence a thousand words of love and adoration. It sings to us the song of love at the cost of it's own slow death.

To greet the burning glory of the dawn,

Wet with the sweet, chilled kisses of the night,

Opening myself to the skies of my Creator,

I wait for her lips, her fluttering heartbeat.

 

The grasp of such ethereal warmth,

It pulls me from where my maker placed me,

When the stars were infants in the darkness,

And the music of the spheres was silent.

 

To her I am taken hence into man’s world,

A gift for bright eyes and soft fingers,

Upon a crystal pedestal where the sun shines,

Perched upon a sill to capture her notice.

 

Her beauty was his immediate rapture,

And so became mine as well,

That I opened myself to her coming,

Spread arms of scarlet to her warmth.

 

She took me up and kissed me soft,

Praising my beauty paled by her own,

Batting soft gazes at he who took me,

And pressing affections against his lips.

 

Back to my crystal pedestal I was placed,

To see beyond the pane what once was,

The glory of my Maker and my kin to praise it,

Basking only in her glow and her gentle words.

 

Until my last crimson tear was shed there,

And my time to see and feel and hear was spent,

The lover, he comes again with another like me,

One to take my place in crystal upon the ledge.

 

I would take her kisses, her praises no more,

Face now wilted under grief of what was,

My Creator’s world robbed of me by him,

Because I sang his song of love to her.

Author's Note

Written in 2010.

Reviews

[Legendary_Princess]

I love this, such a description and beautiful poem. Well done.

[wildfire midnight charm..]

beautiful

[KATHY SUE SILLS]

Such great description in this poem! Great Write!

[Frank F. Atanacio]

wow I enjoyed this write very well done :) Kudos