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Imaginative
Turn, 1/1/2010
How tiresome it
is
This beast that
turns in my grave
Shrieking to
unearth
Such fearful
foreboding
Of what is to
come
From what has
been done
In the name of
the Rose
That holds
itself in
Enshrouded by
sepals
To keep all its
petals
From falling to
ground
Out of sight,
far from sound
Stalled in the
bud
Distilled in the
mud
Defended by
prickle
Refusing to
tickle
But piercing
instead
The heart that
yearns
To get out of
bed
How exciting it
is
This creature
that rises with the sun
Singing its
heart out
In radiant
flower
Bearing fruit
into joys to come
From what has
been done
Crying, hip, hip
hooray!
In the name of
the Rose
That gathers all
in
As it dies and
grows
Loosing its
petals
From the
confines of sepals
To spread light
in sound
Before turning
back inward
Whilst falling
to ground
Where others
come to bear its energy away
Through death
and decay
Into life that
unfurls
In the opening
That sustains
the possibility
Of flowering
afresh
Through darkness
in light
Breaking out of
bounds
In another
day