Tepid drops of water leak from the top
Of a desolate deserted well
Catching bits of sunlight as they trickle down.
Amid the sands of grief at the bottom,
A lone rose lies discarded in the murky depth
Bringing simple beauty to the long-forgotten well.
Its soft fragrance muted in the mire
The perfume hovering in the air like a rainbow
It lies forlorn in the darkness, gasping for breath
Anticipating the fleeting breath of life
When golden sunlight streams down from the heavens
Or when the moon sheds silver on the black mouth of the well.
In the night, it soaks up the lustrous light
Created by a silent path of starlight.
The wind sighs overhead, like the sound
Of crushed velvet rubbing against glass.
The rose settles in the shadows again
After the light passes and waits.
Some dare to seize the one good,
In the depths of the ancient well,
And lean against the timeworn stones
To draw up the beckoning rose.
But upon reaching for its slender stem
The thorns attack back, embracing its enemy
Causing blood to course from the hands of its foe.
Thus sustained on the nutrients of the blood,
Soaking it in, drinking its fill of the crimson fluid,
Thereby creating its vibrant bold red color,
The rose clings to a hopeful thread of life.
Rain seeped into the heavy sand,
Till it sparkled like a luminous opal
And made the rose gleam like a ruby
Baptized and renewed for a split second
But only to be deluged in the mud.
When the misty rain ceased to refresh,
And its purpose became to drown
Adding a thorn to an already dying rose,
The flower seemed to sigh achingly
Letting up its grasp on living any longer.
I felt its heartache etched in my own heart.
And upon the sands of the grief in the forsaken well
The first petal tumbles from the weak stem
Ending the beauty that once dwelt there.