The Rose Who Dreamed
by Lloyd Thomas Smith III

I heard the whispers of beauty sing in the concrete jungle
How curious but stark was the raffish rose who dreamed
Passion red petals arbitrarily trodden and tattered
Thirsty and crisp, the stem stubbornly leaned left towards light
Black thorns gnarled from warding away careless, indulgent hands
Crooked stalk straddled on a fractured membrane of concrete
Cracks ruffled the jarred surface, spreading like a spider web
A deep crevice made home for the flower's weakly clenched roots
Neglected it stood, married to trial and abandonment
Gloomy blue dawns yielded bitter frost, yet the rose felt warm gales
Dreams all but deferred, the rose held bold aspirations at heart
Brave ambition gave the flower new hope, teaching it to grow
Breaking the black reaper taught it to fool the cruel concrete world
How charming it looked, a red spark in a sea of sullen gray
Until dark wisps in the sky, grew heavy with the tears of God
Dashing down dreams, rending stem from root, and petal from flower
Red passion washed away in a soggy pool of lost dreams
The sole shade of life, a sacrifice to the rage of nature
Blooming upon Elysian fields, the rose saw Yahweh breathe life
And tongues of fire fell down concrete cracks, warming young seeds

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Poem Copyright 2012 by Lloyd Thomas Smith III

 

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