The Rose

He gave me a rose
A simple gesture
Speaking without
Words, yet
Heavy with unspoken
Petals, deep red
Passion tipped
Bursting from
White core
Purity at heart
I took that rose
I held it in my hand
I missed his look
It was only later
I saw his eyes
Still, motionless
Speaking a language
I misunderstood
Eyes that took in
But gave nothing out
He gave me a rose
A single stem
With thorns
Still attached
I bled from a thorn
Deep red
Passion transubstantiated
Into pain
I ignored the pain
His face barred
In shadows
Captive in
His own prison
Closeted in the
Bars of his upbringing
I misunderstood
The language of the rose
It was not for love
But forgiveness

This poem was inspired by a picture from Alberto Bevicini of a man in shadows holding a rose

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By badgerslabyrinth