The Rose Garden

The details depress
If that isn't intended
They should be different

Don't leave all these thorns
If I'm not meant to retreat
When my skin is pricked

I resist the urge
To leave the garden behind
Or stomp the roses

I tiptoe with grace
Delicate, both skin and grounds
Absorbing the pain

Knowing the regrets
With insurmountable stakes
Would be each of ours

But not ours to share
Wandering and without bloom
Should this test be failed

So I tip toe through
The path not hard, just trying
Longer than preferred

As my finger bleeds
I wonder if rose gardens
Understand their sting 

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