Tepid drops of water leak from the top

Of a desolate deserted well

Catching bits of sunlight as they trickle down.

Amid the sands of grief at the bottom,

A lone rose lies discarded in the murky depth

Bringing simple beauty to the long-forgotten well.

Its soft fragrance muted in the mire

The perfume hovering in the air like a rainbow

It lies forlorn in the darkness, gasping for breath

Anticipating the fleeting breath of life

When golden sunlight streams down from the heavens

Or when the moon sheds silver on the black mouth of the well.

In the night, it soaks up the lustrous light

Created by a silent path of starlight.

The wind sighs overhead, like the sound

Of crushed velvet rubbing against glass.

The rose settles in the shadows again

After the light passes and waits.

Some dare to seize the one good,

In the depths of the ancient well,

And lean against the timeworn stones

To draw up the beckoning rose.

But upon reaching for its slender stem

The thorns attack back, embracing its enemy

Causing blood to course from the hands of its foe.

Thus sustained on the nutrients of the blood,

Soaking it in, drinking its fill of the crimson fluid,

Thereby creating its vibrant bold red color,

The rose clings to a hopeful thread of life.

Rain seeped into the heavy sand,

Till it sparkled like a luminous opal

And made the rose gleam like a ruby

Baptized and renewed for a split second

But only to be deluged in the mud.

When the misty rain ceased to refresh,

And its purpose became to drown

Adding a thorn to an already dying rose,

The flower seemed to sigh achingly

Letting up its grasp on living any longer.

I felt its heartache etched in my own heart.

And upon the sands of the grief in the forsaken well

The first petal tumbles from the weak stem

Ending the beauty that once dwelt there.