Rose

Peeling back petalled layers of a marbled mind 

What would they find in her cobwebs of time... spinning?

Splintering, her porcelain, chipped veins burst with stars 

Once illumined luminary now seeps through cracks

Stacked debris; her Luddite axe, bludgeoned own will 

Sanguine lipstick distracts from her black and blue mind

Her libertine cursed dream, still singing on repeat

Beneath, her gentle pastel powder hues of hope 

.

We only see her, the painted, not the painter

No more than, soiled rancid rag, masterpiece mistook 

Cut, squeezed, spread thinly on paint’s palette; butcher’s block

Her regrets and blood still imbrued upon their hands

Fragranced sacrifice sheds herself; flagellation 

Fine creases, chain-mailed lattice, she fills with french blanc

Madonna’s poised pose, her armoured ashen facade 

Thumbed and burned at edges, she's jaded, played last card 

.

Elfin, her beauty and her wisdom’s willowed tears 

Adorned in white rusting roses, her heart’s graveyard

Commemorating, decorating her soul’s graves

Each she diligently dug, for herself, by hand

Slowly, she's unfurling; overstretched rubber band 

Barred gateways to soul, her emerald eyes; fly traps

Piece by piece, she’s stuck each mulched mosaic tile back

Hindsight’s sad, smile... buttonhole rose never again 

© Debbie Razey 2022 - Violet Moon Poetry