This is my first poem in a while. An emotive extended metaphor about the death of my Auntie Janet
Someone once said that “love is like a red, red rose”,
Perhaps life itself is like a rose-
Beginning as small shoots,
Nurtured by the mothering sun and
Soothed by the brotherly rain.
Growing to exhibit fabulous colours,
A peacock presentation and personality.
Your life was very much like a rose;
And from you two more resplendent flowers grew.
You nurtured them, your arms wrapped around them like vines,
Entwined in immovable embrace.
Your life was very much like a rose,
Perhaps not like the crimson bloom of Blighty,
Instead like a tired rose.
A tired rose oppressed by a vengeful Sun,
Tormented by the bitter rain.
A painful being.
Thorns in your side.
Your head bowed and bent at the neck.
Steadfast maternal cradle now a broken bough,
Broken like your families bleeding hearts.
Grieving tears stream down our grey, sullen faces
Almost resembling raindrops on a rose petal.
Your death is very much like a rose.
You continue to rise and climb,
Spiralling, twisting and turning towards the light.
Growing in a secret, immortal garden.
Your spirit free and beautiful,
Like our memories of you are still.
Sublime and eternal as the rose that grows beside your grave.