White Rose

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A winter white rose

Lingers brazen.

As if she dares the pending snow

to steal her royal garb.

Ringed with velvet petals

Her heart is crazy bold.

As if she holds off passing time

She chafes against the cold.

Frailer blooms have bowed their heads.

Surrendered bloom

To dark and murderous winter’s doom.

The season’s taken many things

It’s chill-expected toll.

Her fragrance wanes.

Her spine now curves in weakened pain.

With dignity she wakes each morn

Single tear-petals drip past thorns

On their journey to the ground.

One winter white rose

lingers proud.

Know’s not her season to expire.

Wakes each morn with lovely valor.

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Father’s Bible

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Life lies dormant.

Salvation writhes between closed pages.

Aged, old of fathers’ past,

“Obsolete,” accuse the ignorant.

 

Red words bleed between the lines,

Of promises aged, old

Sworn by a Father of no beginning.

 

Thick, shimmery leaves

Opposite loosed, leather binding.

Tattered from a history of love.

 

A name worn from its face

Declares value to treasuring fingers.

Aged, old, now gone.

 

Slipped form limbs and belligerence

To a world promised

Sworn by a Father of no genesis.

Composed for Gooseberry Garden weekly poetry challenge.

Image borrowed from: http://ourjourneywestward.com/tag/nature-journals/