I. Flowers

I am the flower beside the rose
that no hand has ever chosen.

The glory lily.
The unheard of
nonconformist flower that
does not bow down to the
scarlet red of the roses,
but produces its own
brilliant and flaming crimson
that can only be seen in the mind's eye.

I am the flower beside the rose,
that will not blossom.

The shell of the flower hides true beauty.

II. Mirrors

A gathering storm harvests hot pools
behind my eyes.
The only water my spirit receives as I stand
before the mirror.
Blame for the body whose image hides my soul.

No one knows me.

They can only see scarlet.

Blurred eyes watch as a hand pounds solidified sand*
to break back into grains.
To rearrange the image of illusion,
Turn my insides out and reveal
a flower without thorns,
a flower of passion and fire,
of crimson petals.

III. Truth

I am not a rose.
Mirrors are blind.
I am my hand that crushes a rose petal
and lets if fall
down into the reflected pieces
of an image
not of me.

*Mirrors and glass are made of compacted sand.

03/04/2006