A Rose by any other Name...

Poem written for an idioms contest, the idiom being 'Read Between the Lines." Hehe, see if you can find it.

Thistles and thorns bind us together tight,

words never whispered become a hidden tether,

a gentle caress, a far gentler kiss,

you love me now, but I love you too much.

 

Each day arrives a single rose,

long stemmed and crimson

just like our forbidden love.

A rose, so sweet, so beautiful,

each one sitting in a clear vase,

each one on my window sill,

each one whithering each day.

 

We met by chance,

by chance I believe; you see,

we met in the market on a hot summer's day.

I was alone, looking at small trinkets

and other things of glamour.

But you were there looking,

not for toys or trinkets,

no, not for those things.

But how was I to know?

 

We strolled the parks hand in hand by moonlight,

you spoke words that made me melt,

you called me beautiul, a dream beyond belief,

I believed you and

I fell.

 

You told me you loved me,

but you could only see me at night.

In the day you worked,

in the day you were always away from home,

in the day you were

with another.

 

I saw you with her, yes I did,

and what a pretty thing she was.

Small and elegant,

graceful, frail, a true gem.

And what am I to her?

 

I am a stone, a rock, a clump of sand;

I am not graceful, but clumsy,

I am not beautiful, but plain.

I am not frail nor small nor elegant,

I am like a rough mountain stone.

 

Work, you claim.

HA! I laugh at your excuse,

at your lie!

 

You haven't seen me in a week,

you claim more work has appeared,

and you won't see me for a while.

But still you love me,

still you cannot wait to be

with me again.

 

Each day a rose arrives for me,

each day I put it in the vase,

the vase so filled with your love,

and so filled with my tears.

Today's is the last rose though,

the vase is too heavy on the side facing the world,

the side telling the world

that you

love

me.

 

Oops.

It looks like it fell out the window,

and now it's broken.

My tears have spilled to cover all the earth,

and your love is just

another dead plant

covered in thorns that would always

always

prick my fingers and

make me bleed.

Author's Note

Read between the lines, that's not exactly what she did, but hey, from our point of view, if we 'read' between the lines of that cheat, wouldn't you see the truth?

Reviews

[Nancy Lee Shrader]

Congrats on your great winning poem