Desert of the Heart

originally published on http://Whisper and Roar.com

I snip the spent roses

From the bushes

And place the browned edged heads

Into this bag.

The bag is filled pink and yellow petals

Dried from the sun

Or beaten from the hail of thunderstorms.

I continue to the next bush.

Do the bushes feel relieved of a burden?

No longer having to spend energy on buds dead or dying?

Or do they want their dead and dying

To hold close and cherish the ending?

Would they rather have these old buds

Than the new wounds I have opened for them?

Is this the purpose of their thorns?

To keep the well-intentioned gardener away from their limbs?

A thorn snags my arm

And blood drops onto

The pink and yellow brown edged beaten petals

Like water in the oasis

Of this desert of the heart

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