Thistles and Roses

Thistles and Roses: A Sonnet Cycle

By Uisce Killian

The trees and roses ceased to speak to her:

A ripped plant transplanted and forced to grow,

The leaves stretched far but refused to gather,

Roots withered; there were no seeds left to sow.

Humanity had metamorphed into

The most false lush garden, façade décor.

The innocence of budding was no more.

Panic seized vine-tight, choking all she knew.

Smothered by the fear, half a world away

A thorn pierced her side: a thistle among

The roses and fighting back, seizing day.

The sharp violet petals turning her young.

This thorn among the tea garden a weed

Let her grow again to follow his lead.