silk flowers vi

From silk to roses
I watched as they grew
together
like twin trees planted
in the same soil.

It's raining now
upon the earth she,
delicate as she is
strong, took residence
within.
At first a
minor inconvenience,
the rain refreshes
and rejuvinates her;
but now the deluge
threatens
to drown.

The worm,
who brings
her water when
she is dry,
in return for her
gentle
warm
hospitality,
now moves the clouds for her.
His flower will
not be beaten down
by the
everflowing storm.

Mending her leaves
and tending to her
beautiful petals,
the worm still feels
at home.
Knowing her every thorn,
he finds his way again
from root to stem
to leaves to bloom--
he's made this journey
a thousand times
in a thousand lives.

When he is done
tending for his life-giving
love,
he takes in the new form,
more beautiful than ever
before. With
a storm comes damage,
with damage comes
character, with character
comes renewal,
with renewal comes
beauty, most high.

The worm is satisfied,
comforted,
secure.

All the while the worm
and the rose
with her white petals
escort each other
in their timeless dance,
I regard the china doll,
whose cheeks match the
hue of the rose's most
pure petals, and find
that I have grown too
fond of her to ever
let her go.

The hourglass again
collects another grain,
and with it,
the knowledge that
with all strife
comes rebirth.

I am of the worm,
in that I love the rose
and all she represents.

I love the rose.