Roses From His Heart

Roses From His Heart

He never spoke in grand and shining words,

Never reached for promises dressed in gold,

Instead he carried quiet in his hands,

And gave the parts of himself he could hold.

One day he opened places kept concealed,

Places untouched by comfort or by light,

And from that hidden garden roses came,

Soft red against the silence of the night.

Each bloom was shaped from moments left unsaid,

From losses buried deep beneath his skin,

Petals unfolded slowly into trust,

Showing the storms he never let begin.

There were no perfect edges to those flowers,

Some carried marks of battles long concealed,

Yet every crooked line and darker shade

Became the proof that something there had healed.

He placed no chains around the gifts he gave,

No asking for a promise in return,

Only the hope the roses might survive,

And find a place where gentler fires burn.

Still roses fade when handled carelessly,

Their colour dims beneath an absent hand,

Though roots remain where honest feelings lived,

Waiting in quiet earth to rise again.

He gathered what was left and smiled once more,

Not every bloom was meant to stay in view,

Some flowers exist simply to reveal

The depth of what a human heart can do.

Now somewhere in the seasons moving on,

Fresh roses open where old sorrow starts,

Growing without regret or fear of loss,

Still carried from the centre of his heart.

#Marie381UkWriter