The Bright and The Broken

The brightest rose in the ground

The most majestic of flowers

Stood taller than the tallest man

With a mighty stance.

It’s leaves stretched from sea to sea

With green of speckled frog.

It’s petals stretched like clouds

With red of spilt blood.

No animal dared tired on it

Nor wandering man plucked it.

It stood for years a mighty thing

A wonder to the world.

Then one day a mighty winter

Blew against the rose

It froze the rose’s mighty stem

It crumpled the rose’s blood red petals.

It uttered names of hell and slowly the flower lowered his face

his beauty wilted.

And as the winter raged on

the mighty flower withered.

It lost its beauty as the winter danced as days grew ever shorter.

At night the rose shivered

And with each night a petal fell

until he was without petals.

Then the sun shone again

Yet the rose did not lift his face.

He remained sad far into summer and again into the cold as years and years flew by.

When spring came once more beneath a dying sun

The withered rose looked up

And saw before his wilted eyes

A rose of new origin.

The rose stood tall as the tallest woman

With leaves of the purest green

And petals born of the sun.

The withered rose looked upon the other

And slowly he stood tall

Taller than the tallest man.

His leaves again stretched from sea to sea with green of speckled frog.

Again his petals gleamed with red of spilt blood.

Again he was the brightest rose in the ground

But he was not alone.

And as the sun slowly died

The roses looked upon one another

And the withering rose of winter

Blossomed into the bud of spring

And the broken heart of man

Became whole again.


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