Who Would Ever Know a Rose?

Who would ever know a rose

if she shunned it for its thorns?

Velvet dusk of petals ~

opening lips. An invitation kiss

to fall deeper

under the spell

into the scent

to a heart plump

with promise seeds.

 

Who would ever win a pearl

if she grew weary of plumbing secrets?

Shell protected luminescence

burrowed in moist, warm flesh

quivering with the hope

of being freed.

 

Every gift comes bearing grief

in direct proportion to its worth.

 

The daughter burrows,

claiming as her own

the chambers of your heart ~

riding like a surfer

the waves of each intake

and outtake of your breath.

Until with mastery

prepared for solo flight,

with no regret,

she’ll say good-bye.

 

Every gift comes bearing grief

but oh the joy of bittersweet

to know you’ve lived

with open palms

the finest prayer allowed us here.