Last night I heard a Woman Cry.
The sound was that of a soul shattering.
Stones of dispassionate disapproval were thrown her way.
“Just leave!” was all he said.
He refused to acknowledge what he could clearly see.
Her face was spotted with pain.
He rolled over with the coldest ease.
Her Soul had been Shattered, and now Love was pouring through the panes.
His ears fell deaf, all he could hear was the rain.
She wept and pleaded…
It was useless in the end.
Though her thorns may prick us and make us bleed we cherish her and give her what she needs. Because these moments are fleeting as the sun is fading, and once the fire dies down darkness sets in. A chill breeze sweeps over as we become cold and hollow yet stiff as stone. The day is done and forever gone. Tomorrow shall rise with a new and brighter sun; the memories which haunt shall never be forgotten. The scars have healed but the petals have fallen. This Rose is our Hope. This Rose is our Dream. This Rose is our Love, trapped in a life dedicated to dying. Its will to survive, our yearning for it to thrive, nourished with gifts from the Divine make it everlasting, Immortal, free from the chains of time. As our memories don’t die with us, they travel on to the next, these petals that have fallen preserve the groundwork for those left.