THE TIRED ROSE 
Cast adrift on the dark-black sea
Caught amidst calm listless waves
Planted within collective soil,
The Group, where one must wed
Before one’s Use-By-Date spoils--
Floats the Tired Rose.
Her dark-red petals fluctuate
Or as some say they—vacillate--
Between two world self and estate
A love ordain for clan and State,
But not a rampart for the heart.
A thwart, a dart into that beating part--
Waits and awaits the tired rose.
Waiting and drifting in the dark night,
Glittering in Moon’s slicing silvery light,
Dark red petals all strewn about
Like a mass of hair in long gelatin spikes
Writhing from too much pearly dew
From contracts and society’s glue,
Lies prickless rose, a lost buoy,
Her thorns without a clue
Of what to gore, of what to slew.
And yet another, Energetic Rose, stands tall upright,
Rooted in dark, damp fertile earth,
Yearned toward lights of day and night,
Her hands uplifted in Goddess salute
And praise for freedom to pursue
Her red petals’ private-passion route.
This Amazon Knight—
Sought a risky adventure that beat apart,
In full-fledge flight toward her Heart’s
Witchery and loins fondue--
Galloped to a pounding different drum
She flew onward in personal love.
© Cupideros, Wednesday, December 03, 2008 by
Thanks for reading this poem.
--cupideros
This page was last updated: February 21, 2009
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