Who weeps for the rose once the thorn has won-

After inspired explosions of color, brown and

no longer hold the eye’s affection?

Who cries for the actor after the scene-

When the stage extends beyond the curtain, and

the makeup fails, and

the rehearsed lines of life hold no meaning -

When the only words in the mind of misplaced creation

 are repeated rhyming esoteric clichés?

The poet celebrates both rose and thorn, and

actor and misplaced words-

Every breath a poem in waiting -

An embryo dependent upon soul and pen.