Free verse № 47802
The Bleeding Rose
Petals confined
by transparent wire.
Roots embedded
in the red soaked mire.
Gasping for air,
she twists and she turns.
Old scars opened
by self sharpened thorns.
A blaze she does see
in her darkest of nights.
The fire of her dreams;
such a bright burning light.
And when the flames near,
and then flicker and die,
she watches them fade
without wondering why.
For her inner struggle
has now changed its pace.
Shes been robbed of her will.
Such a long, hard race.
Shes surrendered, and now,
forgetting her needs,
she will wait for the day
she no longer bleeds.
23 comments
still not bad, and mostly better than mine.... bastard
You may no doubt imagine what happened. During the diet I had remained indoors and, naturally, nude, but the ending of my diet coincided with an Exhibition of Mr. Chetwoad's Horrifying Machine in the Crystal Palace, which I was rather eager to attend. Slipping into a tuxedo proved challenging, but the cloth slid so beautifully and easily against my buttered skin that once I had it on, I was in a constant state of sensory arousal. Indeed, I rather feared that I would suddenly begin to writhe on the floor in pleasure during the Exhibition, so I took the precaution of branding my eye with a red-hot spatula and hoping this would balance out the other stimulus; the result was... O Jesu what have I done?
life is one hell of a bleeding unend, not when for a woman , this is the very sacrifice life demands of her, painful if then love a smokescreen to cool the nerve or fool her away the truth of life is denied and turns a party in the very game of adding to the pains of humanhood, rose never cease the bleed keep the fire for nothing, for poetry to continue the circle of birth to life.
And I really wonder who this jerk is, going around giving a zero to all your poems. Maybe he needs a double dose of his own medicine.
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