A rosebush--

Her eyes the moon,

Her hands the stars,

Her body the night,

Her feet the Earth;

A mother--

Her flower the sun,

Her leaves the clouds,

Her stem the day,

Her roots the earth.

 

A vine--

Its origin Hedera helix

Its home the rosebush

Its conduct concealed

Its adroitness unknown;

A disease--

Its core the nerves,

Its home the mother,

Its actions inert,

Its cause unknown.

 

Multiple Sclerosis

Curls its tendrils,

Sliding up the stem

Of the shrub,

A silent spy

Dressed in dark green

Suffocating

The rose;

Her face slowly wilting,

Scents

Snuffed,

Capitulating

As the vine

Continues

To wind--

Symphonic secrecy

Sans strife

A weed in a

Garden of innocence

Waiting for just the right moment

To asphyxiate;

An incognizant

Encroachment

Of my mother.