In shadows of night the rose grows, the bloom,
like a fist unclenching, petals soft as a whisper,
against the wind’s blow, holding its breath.
As the moon spills gold into the shallow creek—
with a scent of rain and buried things,
exhuming memories of the trellis and rose.
Now the vines twist around the fence posts,
in slow motion, in a dance older than names—
humming an old song deep and low.
Whispering to shadows in the cul-de-sac,
listening to the tallow in candle glow,
in shadows of night the rose grows, the bloom.
Beautifully penned, Adagio. Amazing imagery my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you, Damian.
This is an outstanding poem, dear Abbey! The imagery, the metaphors, the soothing atmosphere – everything is beautiful!
Thank you, my friend.
People often say how beautiful and soft is a rose, but I always saw something deeper and here You’ve expressed it,That’s the strength of the rose, she stays kind in all the ugliness, she yeilds with the hardships… she grows with beauty even in the darkness. a power those only with pure hearts can acknowledge. Thank You for the lovely read my friend.
Thank you for reading.