I picked the last rose of the season,
hoping it will bloom,
scavenge from a briery bed,
so full of spiny barbs deeply woven in retrieve,
It appeared to be begging me to  be saved from the winter cold,

 

Slowly reaching down among many thorns,
I gently sniped it thin stem among all those other stems,
A bud so pink with a ting of yellow,
was its beauty that became profound,
its spine pricked my hand as I reached down for it,    
that sharpness of contrast was now
matched by spilled blood from my hand,


In careful manner;
I lifted it from its cold drab place,
 among the withered rose bed ,
gently pulled it from refuge among other stems to my side,
holding it softly inside my palm,
the drips of blood splattering among the fallen leaves,

Dropping it among the prickly bed,
that lay beneath my feet in depth of coldness,
among the fallen petals and leaves abreast,
I shifted my hand quickly,
with a quiver thrust to my finger,
sucking the remaining blood to seal the wound,
observing the sentiment , once beauty that laid before my feet,



It sent a vision of depth of meaning among recollect observance,
a sense of hurt;
 a loss among others;
shedding its life line to survive the changes among its peers,
a bit of beauty it speaks to my side,
lasting pain felt from all those thorns that pricked me.
Now laid dormant in blood amongst the decayed leaves,

A reminder of  its lasting life given when by my side,
captured essence of love once felt,
words that were scorned from your friends,
that shattered my desires for your beauty,
 tormenting me like thorns the company you kept,




When in harsh reality, it became my realization that I was
always was there caring for your needs ,
Beauty inside  observed its mark upon my soul,
staring waiting to recover you from the depth of coldness that blinded you,

In restless plunder do I lie there in hopelessness from when dropped,
Do I wait for  rebound from the hurt that pricked my hand,
Its pain upon my heart. to  soon vanish,



When all things seemed mended .
Gently;
I reached down and picked you up.
lifting you out of the depths of coldness,
to warmth;
taking you back to enjoy  beauty you inspired,
saving you from  coldness that you were confined too,
in-depth entrapment  amongst  guarded thorns,
waiting for your bloom again in shadows from my heart and soul,
knowing that there was still  innocents of a rose found in you,
amongst those  in a bed withered in thorns,


Hanger

"Far Away"