A little something to kick off your weekend. Catch you on Monday!
THE ROSE AND HER THORNS
Have you heard the story of the rose? The beautiful yellow rose that grows up-top the hill of thorns. It blooms only at night once the last rays of sunlight leave the earth, in the darkness sun bright petals of gold and deep orange blossom unfolding in elegant perfection to welcome the dazzle of moonbeams. There just beyond the horizon it sits, a single steam reaching upwards towards the heavens for acceptance. Acknowledgment of its tragic beauty.
Why so tragic?
Do you see there? Yes, there surrounding the mound of earth that raises this brilliant flower toward the sky. The dark forms that jut outright cutting through the space around them with ruthless fortitude. Thorns, like those of any rose they protect the beauty that is the sun's light in the darkness of night. Ever watchful of suitors that might approach the delicate flower. Cuts not the only fear these blades of nature offer. No, there is a fate far worse then wounded flesh.
Deadly and slow acting. One single scratch infects the blood, with each hesitated step forward the young suitor suffers. Dieing for just a single touch of this beauty's petals that taunts them each night with those final rays of sunlight.
Then as the moon sinks inevitably into the horizon giving way to the new morning sun, the rose withers under her own darkness. She dies without knowing the love of another, her quest for the heavens unfulfilled. Waiting there up-top her hill surrounded by death the beauty waits. Ideas of love filling those nighttime trails she watches. Baring witness to those who would try and pluck her from that hill. Many came, many failed, and then all stopped.
How long has it been dear rose? How long since anyone has braved your thorns? They all fear and aw at your beauty dear rose. Your color so brilliant and pure, yet your darkness so deep and endless. There is no savior for you dear rose, no one brave enough, strong enough, no courage left in men that would attempt to touch your petals. Your poison is so strong sun golden rose, and so each night you bloom glowing with other wordily passion in hopes someone will save you, each day you wither away in disappointment, left unfulfilled. Your cycle is tragic and repetitive, locked in time, and trapped by your own limitations dear rose.
How long will you suffer? Dear rose why do you wait for another to do what you can accomplish on your own?
Dear rose golden like the sun reaching for heaven in the dark of life, reach skyward and look nowhere else. Cast your gaze upward and search nowhere else but within those golden petals for your salvation. Surrender to yourself and descend from that lonely hilltop, follow your roots and branch outward beyond those poisoned thorns. Wither no more from your unfulfilled desires and follow course towards them.
Have you heard the story of the rose? The one that blossoms with petals of brilliant yellow and rich orange. The one trapped up-top a mound of thorns, lost in despair she withered each day.
She braved her poisoned thorns, now true beauty walks among us.