A Rose |
| by AP |
In my hand
I bear a rose
Soft and black
Single yet whole
In a field
Of flowers I stand
Beneath skies
Of vivid blue;
Sweet air
I breathe,
I breathe again;
Embraced I am
By waves
Of color
By waves
Of light;
My eyes behold
In all its beauty
A lone blossom
'cross the field
A splash
Of gold
Amid endless
Seas of red
Within my mind
Is born a thought
Made fertile
By desire
Forsake
But which?
Partake
Of which?
This rose
I bear?
Or that
Which tempts?
I fear that
Should I
Forsake this rose
So rare, so fine
For another
I'd find Its petals
Frayed, stained,
Withered and dry
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