the thorns and the rose …


The petals unfurl, a rose awakens into sublime light, perched on a tender stem, studded with the sharpest thorns.

The flaming, scarlet rose, knows not that the thorns, jagged razors, are silent sentinels, offering a sheath of oblivious solace.

The thorns shield the rose, uncaring of their visage, they are the ramparts, willing protectors, of the delicate burden they carry.


If only the thorns of my life, assured me with a semblance of safety, guarding me from the howling storms, the merciless sea of this, my life.

if only I were enveloped by such thorns, weather-beaten, yet buffered from this wretched cauldron, this yawning void in which I writhe.