The Black & White Poet

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The Roses of My Heart

Upon which breezed the dusty mire
A dozen roses dry and athirst.
But one of the eleven remain ruby,
Autumn sun kissing its worst.

Arms down aside like broken wings,
I admire the reminder who stand strong.
Neither spell nor misfortune pertains upon them-
Still they toil and struggle to carry on.

Clouds so shallow and within my extend,
Bottle up the lavishing showers!
A hand to coop its drizzle and sleet-
Then to trickle the eleven flowers.

Still of all my heart- that one rose remain,
Yet I find thorns upon its shoot.
The rest of my life shall fail me,
So ‘tis why I so bold for truth.

Many find that rose unattractive,
When it's thorns are spied like gloom.
‘Tis forgot it was the thorns that spilled,
Eternal red blood on its bloom.

~DaYnA e. 8/15/03

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The Roses of My Heart