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Rated: E · Poetry · Personal · #717665
Returning to a place where I was long ago and truly leaving it behind me.
I wander, I wander this lonely afternoon
Alone, I wander to a garden of old
Ill-tended, left overgrown - a corpse
Mockery of its former beauty.
My eyes close for a moment, remembering.

They open, and I find myself in the center -
The very heart of this fabled garden.
I look to my feet, knowing full well what I'll find.

A rose - ancient, yet still blooming
It lays at my feet, an omen -
An invitation I cannot resist.

My trembling fingers reach for the stem
Careful to avoid the thorn, covered in blood
My blood, fresh in spite of time -
In spite of all that has come to pass
I caress the petals, close my eyes.

Faintly, the rose smells sweet
As it did that fateful afternoon.
But another scent lingers
Of long years, meager wisdom
Come by at a heavy price

A renegade finger strokes the thorn -
That which caused me such pain.
Eyes shut against tears, I remember
I remember

With a start my fingers drop the flower
I stare at it on the cobblestones
For but a moment, barely a breath.

Of its own will my boot moves -
Crushing the rose of my past
As with a single tear - but a single tear
I leave the garden of my childhood
Never to return again
© Copyright 2003 Gatita (Kat) (katthemage at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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