Single, Fresh Rose

She never had a rose before.
Many carnations, daffodils, chrysanthemums and weeds had come and gone,
But they never danced in her mind like the wonder of a single, fresh rose.

She was not greedy for a bouquet.
The awe would lose its power, its significance, its romance if overdone.

One day as she walked, she came upon it.
Freshly cut, petals in full blossom like pursed lips,
The steam green and straight as a line
Unspoiled and dethorned.
She lunged for it with both hands.
And as she grabbed it, it grabbed her,
Melding her soul with the essence of the flora.
As she drew it closer, the aura intensified.
And when it was near the tip of her nose, she inhaled the delicate scent.
Climatic, orgasmic.
It was everything she had imagined.

And then without warning jagged and crooked thorns shot out every surface of the stem,
Puncturing deep inside her hands.
The rose turned old and sour,
Its reddish glow, descending to a desolate auburn.
But still she stood their clenching it tighter, praying for it to come back,
Turning it upside down so that her blood would run down the steam and stain the petals red again.
The agony sent her into shock, and she dropped to the ground, rose still in her clutches.
She wouldn't let it go.
She couldn't let it go.

You see...
She never had a rose before.
Many carnations, daffodils, chrysanthemums and weeds had come and gone,
But they never danced in her mind like the wonder of a single, fresh rose.

http://www.ryanphipps.blogspot.com

http://trpastiche.blogspot.com

Roses

I had been crawling through this world for so long.
Tired, exhausted and deprived.
This colorless nightmare haunted my consciousness.
This can't be life.

One day I came across a lone rose laying askew in the middle of the road.
The petals were perfectly in blossom with a brilliant fiery crimson hue,
And a vivid harlequin stem ornamented with thorns
Simply enchanting...
After my awe struck moment, I lunged for it.
I lunged for beauty, color...
I lunged for life-but it was to my own dismay.

The jagged thorns ripped through my skin like a chainsaw and tore my hand.
I dropped the damned weed immediately and then fell to my knees from agony.
The tidal wave of blood rushed from my hand and flooded the ground.
I screamed for someone, anyone to help me.
But my screams fell only upon my screams,

As the tears streamed and the pain soared, I cut my eyes to curse my damned enemy,
But then noticed some peculiar.
The the blood was diffusing into the rose making it bigger, redder, thornier.
And as it morphed, I felt something in me leave.
I then hunched closer towards the rose and yet again I was dumbfounded.
I saw the new thorns emblazoned with my initials...and with her initials

How could something so beautiful be so ugly?
I never thought a rose would hurt me so bad!
But hell...I never thought she would either.


The rose is red, because I am blue.
It took my air, when you took you...away...

http://www.trpastiche.blogspot.com
http://www.ryanphipps.blogspot.com

Follow and Feel

Play

Fear Ye Not
For the future is reachable, inevitable
The past though regrettable, is barely memorable
And the present is unmentionable, forgettable
There is no practice, there is no final buzzer
Every second is the game
Play as if it is always one tick, in the final period
And the goal line is an inch away
The rim is at your fingertips
And the ball is on the brim of your glove
Dive
Dunk
Snatch
Life!


For while victory's glow lays firm in your grasp
It is always shadowed by defeat
Live in the Light