so red the rose
as red as blood
from a pricked finger,
a pricked soul
that drips on pure white cloth
as pure as the snow
where cold chills the body,
chills the heart
that beats a desperate rhythm
as desperate as love
that fights to stay alive.
fights to remain pure
as pure as the white snow
of the pricked soul
with the blood so red, so red, the rose.
This book represents a thirty-day period of my poetry journal. Each poem addresses
the dominant thoughts occupying my mind during the early morning hours of a given
day.
Dear readers, this is my third book of poems, and inside are a special collection of what have turned out to be not only MY personal favorites, but also the favorites of many of YOU. Some of these have never been available in print before...
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Regis
very well written Katie...
John
Fee