Monday, June 3, 2013

Rosaceae by Rachael Jones


I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt;

With your thick, sharp, beautiful, jagged words,

True meaning hidden within the roots,

Masked by dirt.

 

Your lies are given to me,

In bundles of roses

Growing from the nutrient dense soil.

Flourishing into a fake splendor.

 

The pedals engaging to the naked eye

A gesture sweet as the rose smells.

Leaves hiding the vicious thorns

Drawing blood when least expected.

 

Enticing as spring draws out

The blooming of each flower,

Pedals slowly open to the world

Like when my secrets unfolded to you.

 

Sights so majestic, none notice

We were all sharing the same flower.

Your scheme unknown

Mystery yet to be solved.

 

Four hands cannot grasp

A single ruby red rose

Your lies will be discovered,

For each rose needs

The universal sun to flourish. 

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