A ROSE FROM THE PAVEMENT

A ROSE FROM THE PAVEMENT

I watched a rose grow out of the pavement,
It made my third eye rain,
No tears of joy,
I cry for the pain that she endures,
For every man that stopped and looked,
I watched her petals bloom,
For every man who got to touch another thorn ensued,
Developing self in childhood is what she’s going through,
Her smell,
Arousing,
Her whites and yellows attracted them,...
The first sign of pink was plucked by older men,
Carried all around the streets as others watched,
Where were the ones who planted her seed,
From off the Earth they dropped,
No longer simply pink she has a hint of red,
17 thorns two buds sprouted off her twig,
An older lady tends to her blossoms as she blooms more,
Red vines inside her stem,
From men touching her plumes she closed up so sore,
One day a lady comes soft spoken pour her some water,
She says let me care for you as she spreads manure,
Matures quick,
Nice and thick see, she’s completely Red,
Set her out from some sun and air,
Sunset... came on inside,
There’s her lady with pink rose in her bed,
Blood red,
Another thorn from a different breed,
Even worse,
That pink red came from her,
You can see this rose in pavement alone once again,
Withering brown,
See fore she never knew love from within…

Poem by:  Slow Poet

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