Blue Rose

a seed was dropped from a hand long ago,

and a Blue Rose grew in the crack of the concrete.

a color so unique, it bloomed alone.

this Rose taught itself to sprout through the rocky street,

no water or sunlight to help it grow.

the Rose grew strong, and it grew beautiful,                             

but no one could see the roots hidden under the stones.

the bugs had infested the marrow of its bones.

the Rose withered slow, no longer youthful,

until one day it stopped being so hopeful.

a person disregarded the weakling and chose

to force his shoe to trample down on it.

the Rose lifted its head, and was met by more blows.

it tried to rise, but was forced to quit

by the unappreciative passerby.

i noticed my Blue Rose on a walk alone.

only I was far too late to revive its glory.

but in both my eyes, it was rare, it shone.

i hoped to nurse it back to life, but it grew weary.

and it turned back to the shadows from where it arose.

they told me to not pick up the flower, the thorns

are sharp, they can cut me. i should not be

wandering in the street alone during a storm.

it’s not your duty to worry, trust me.

carry about your business, let it be.

i didn’t listen and cut myself on the Rose,

the blood rushed down my fingertips, dark red.

but the color of sun doesn’t compare to the night,

a blue so rich, i forget that i bled.

i often ran home, wanting to water my poor Rose.

i loved my Rose, thorns and petals alike, so i’ve

accepted that it was its turn to rise;

out into the vast Blue nighttime it hiked.

i see my sweet Blue Rose in the form of the stars,

and he waits for the night that i shall arrive.