Roses are red while silence is gold
but it’s shine’s dull as a rusty copper bill flying
high above the poppies pushed against the lilac lotuses,
blinded from the thunderclouds’ duct-silver linings.
It should start and end with all carnations
of all palettes and strengths,
surrounding their neighbors with honeysuckle dedication
carried on the daisy-edelweiss breeze.
But then the begonias and tansy rise, make their invasion known,
crush with hulking stems, steal light from those below and around,
tear up the tulip roots and stamens
until the rhododendron scents permeate the air.
They strangle, they ensnare,
entangling even the budding oaks and nasturtium,
their petals gleaming dark crimson while
the innocents’ shine like the black eyes of a Susan.
Why must these battles continue?
Why do we let them go on?
Why do we kill geraniums and goldenrod
and allow the weeds to grow?
What’s a rose without its thorns
when they’re wrenched from its stem?
When they’re trampled in the dirt
forgotten to the dust?
(For reference: www.almanac.com/content/flower-meanings-language-flowers)
About the Creator
Em E. Lee
Writer-of-all-trades and self-appointed "professional" nerd with an infinite supply of story ideas and not nearly enough time to write them down. Lover of all media, especially fiction and literature. Proud advocate of the short story.
How the Harvest Mouse Came to Suisun Bay
A long, long time ago there was a family of harvest mice. Mice are common, but these were unique – born to those who had lived in the salty, marshy bay for many generations, these mice ate and drank from the sea as well as the land and rivers. For generations, there were only the southern families, scattered along the marshes of Corte Madera and in the San Francisco Bay (U.S. Fish & Wildlife, 2013). One family, however, would undergo strife and conflict before reaching a whole new world. What became of them after is another tale entirely – but this is how their story begins.
By Taylor Inman6 days ago in Fiction
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