thorny...

“We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice
because thorns have roses.”―Alphonse Karr

...the sweet red rose that blushes
at my touch,
the prickalala bushes
that, so much,
proliferate the pathway
i must tread
to find the spot where love lay,
cold and dead.

...the issues that confront me,
day and night,
because i know they won't be
gone from sight,
tho tears have dried and clouds have
left my eyes,
as, steadfastly, my hopes crave
clear, blue skies.

...the birds that sing their last sweet
mournful song,
impaling, as their breasts beat
hard and long,
for silence from the brutal
rule of men,
who care not that the just shall
rise again.

© Copyright 2023 September 14
by Clyve A. Bowen♫