A
green leaf in drought . . .
Hard
ripped from a bent twig---
But
sent flying
A
rose bud in situ . . .
Cruel
plucked from a thorn bush---
And
taken deeper
My
soul untouched is safe . . .
But
that is not
What
it was created for
Starlight shines upon a garden rose
Soft
loveliness belies its secret
That it kept
within it a deeper gift
That both beauty
and truth were in it
Irresistible
fragrance bound with a sting
Irrefutable
truth bound with grace
Unfathomable reason for its thorn in me
Unthinkable the
joy of its inherent Giver
There, the
terrible part of my unsolvable question
Shall I run from
the painful thing because it offends?
But, the carpet
is red that bears the feet of them
That have
trodden down the grapes
Laid before
those who held not back from life
Because of death
It is better to
dare than hide
