Dark as a Rose

A storm within a storm within a storm within a Rose

A lily without her pad…forever sinking

So, what is in a name Rosie?

With your whirlwind of violent voices…jading and shading your blood red petals

I hear your claim to be quite alright

But I see your thorns routinely sharpened…just out of spite

…six months

6 months 4


Six months, from crimson to clover

from clutch to crutch,

from inside job to out of touch.

Looking ahead, running from behind,

presently thinking…time, time, time.

Odds are there will someday by no tomorrow.

Counting on more than one hand,

how things did not turn out as planned.

Constantly under the knife.

What a life.

What a price.

Why put into use…a sour spirit.

When only an empty room feels it.

What use a perfect stride.

With self respect being denied.

Sterilized, stigmatized, undignified.

36 hours, 8 days a weak week.

I did not ask for you.

Yet, you came anyway.

Six long months the sentence…handed down.

By a sanitized minister, dressed in white,

wearing a frown.

There is a sacred time of day

that even a physician’s physician cannot take away.

It is the challenge of a soft sunshine.

It is the north east winds…

inviting and unkind.

It is the beaten path to places we have yet to find.

6 months 1
Most of us know a little about somethings.  A few us know a lot about many things.  All of those who have done some living…know something about pain.