The Heart of the Rose

I remember flying on the wings of my nightmare.

I looked down far below me, saw the twisted thicket of thorns,

Pierced through to the middle of it with my eagle's eye,

And saw writhing in the tangled briars, yes,

The ravaged rose queen and her savage, savaged heart.

A storm batters the wings of my steed.

My hands slip the mane and down I plunge

Into the heaving brambles below.

In a moment of searing pain, I am wrapped in a

Lacerating blanket of thorns,

Bleeding from a thousand wounds.

My blood mingles with briar sap until there is no beginning

And no end to us…We are one.

The storm is raging still.

Now my fury lashes forth.

I seek to rend and tear.

I flail the sky with razor claws.

My tongue is barbed and barbarous.

Now my canes rake the trellis.

Hear the shriek of my spines on the window panes.

I thrash the paint from heaven's door in my frenzied anger.

He was drawn to the beauty of the velvet blooms

That stud my tangled hair.

He looked within to find the encaged queen.

My fragile flowers are few,

My crop is thorn.

My latent creativity, unbudded and unborn.