Poisoned Thorns

In the hours when the earth moves between darkness and light,

where murky shadows whisper and doubtful thoughts slip through

making my heart wonder what might have been had you stayed,

what color would the (bed) of roses be today where we once lay

would they be bloody red petals hewn to black and blue

or the shimmering chartreuse of clear morning dew?

Regardless of the outcome, still the poisoned thorns

would prick this fragile soul and mortally wound…

©2019 Linda Lee Lyberg

Poets United Midweek Motif

11 Comments on “Poisoned Thorns

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