Thistles III

Poems in Process

Thistles grow from
His heart
Protective arms
Enwrap the
Thorn he loves

Light dawns within
Purple petals
Thin and delicate
Surrounded by green
Hiding pocket knives
In mauve shadows

The sun’s bright warmth
Glows from her center
And meets his intensity
His full expression
Of sadness and
Memories of shared joy

Out of wastelands
Caressing loneliness
He gives his energy
To landscapes unnourished

At night he shakes–
Peace must be made
His love’s fate is certain
And the brutality
Of ending
Can’t be unmet

Heads together
They bloom
Their beauty is not simple
Notice the strength
The deep looks
Of centuries

Those who know them
Will not forget:
Love for them
Is accepting
Flowers and spurs
Smiles and bruises
As one whole

He begins to pale
Before his wife
He was supposed to be first
His energy is sapped
But what he has left
He can give
To his purpose

When his mission ends
He will fade

Though color and light
Her seeds fall and blow away
On deserted sidewalks

It’s frightening
They have no choice
Finding appreciation
For the growth
That came before
And that comes after

A plant family
Is made of single stalks
Their strength and
From roots to thorny tips

They existed
They hold time and sun
Their survival and cycles
Are our own