Painting by Vladimir Volegov
Under the red wild rose stays
a force, a secret never told,
expanding my sealed ways
as life and death unfold.
Venus and Isis cried alone,
Adonis and Osiris were dead.
For whom should I now moan,
recalling the red roses that bled?
Down on my swollen knees,
a white rose I gently hold,
hiding behind the shy trees
being both divine and old.
Sacredness is transmutation,
a garden of roses lies within
for the mystery is a celebration
of what has always been.
Let the five-petaled roses bloom.
In red and white they shall marry,
perfuming my heart in this room
as long as the secret they carry.
Karla Bardanza
Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2012
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