Bloom Again, Pretty Rose

Bloom Again, Pretty Rose long poem

Photo by Sunny M5

The mindless monsters of darkness
have bared their faces
in naked daylight;
With the poison of wasps
in their bleeding lips,
they have concealed their hate
under the tattered skin
of empty religion.

These ravenous wolves
have thumped through a garden
of tender, precious flowers,
and in their quenchless thirst
for blood, the red
blood of guileless souls,
struck down a pretty rose
with the ferocity of a rabid beast.

O pretty rose!
I have heard the cries of your tears
In the hollow chambers of loneliness;
I have seen you grieve for the
dying souls of blooming dreams
cut down in their prime,
I have seen you recoil rapidly
into a hole of silence,
like a timid mouse afraid of sunlight;

Let not the eyes
Of the hypocrites be glad,
let not envious mouths
drink the wine of celebration;
Though a star is wounded
yet it’s light is not dimmed;
The tree felled today shall
still bear fruits tomorrow.

Rise! Offspring of the Morning Star!
Don’t let the darkness win,
flap your faltering feathers free,
And fly beyond the sea
Of fermented jealousy;

Sing again, lovely dove,
Let the fainting earth awake
to the Symphony of
your enchanting melody;

Bloom again, pretty rose!
Hear the mourning sighs of
a battered, broken generation
waiting for the healing balms
from your hallowed lips.

The candle that buries itself under
the bushel of isolation,
Will die a thousand deaths of shame;
the star that succumbs
to the arrogant gait of darkness,
Will slumber eternally in the
blackened page of history.

Rise, pretty Rose!
Let your sleeping fingers
be possessed again by the
sweet Spirit of inspiration;

Take your rags and weave
them into a flag of hope;
Build yourself a golden platform
from the crude stones
of hateful flaks,
Show the prying eyes, that you’re
the captain of your own ship;

Bury the nightmares of yesterday
and embrace the charming
fragrance of a new dawn.

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