Life is Like a Red Red Rose

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.

The End

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