The Rose

I held a flower in my hand today, and caressed its silky petals. It felt so vibrant, so alive. I sat down, with this piece of creation in my hands, and thought about who I should share it with. My mind wandered, and suddenly a revelation washed over me, like a cruel wave on a poorly placed sand castle.

There was no point in sharing my flower. It would only wither and waste away, like everything on this earth. Mortality has a funny way of catching everyone. Try as you may, you can never out run time. It's a cruel master, that dictates life from death, peace from pain.

I looked down upon my body, strong with youth, and saw a brief glimpse of my future. I saw the withered hands of an old man, the muscles of my youth rendered useless by time. My skin hung loose around my ribs, and my once sturdy legs now were weak, and frail. The flower in my hand was brittle and a pale yellow, as opposed to the beautiful, deep blood-red it had been.

I blinked momentarily, and brought myself back to the present. The flower was still beautiful and I was still young, but my heart cried out in agony.

"What point is there?" I screamed at the sky, letting my pain become words.

"If we are all to die, then why keep on living? Why not just save our cruel master time the effort and cast ourself into the abyss of death? There is no hope, no future, no release from these shackles!"

Tears flowed freely from my eyes, and struck the ground, leaving lines on my face, where I knew one day wrinkles would replace the youthful pallor. I fell to my knees, letting the waves of hopelessness overwhelm me.

Suddenly I knew what to do with my little piece of life. I lifted up my head, and dragged my feet to the field of stones next to me. The stones were the only thing left marking some people's existence on earth, the only memorials of their brief, fleeting life. The stones were etched with names and dates, and I knew that one day mine would be added to the rest.

We all have a beginning and an end, a start and a finish. The time in between only serves to make us long for the finality of death, where we can finally rest, knowing that no pain awaits us upon awakening. I kneeled down at the tomb of a stranger, and placed the flower before the headstone.

It seemed fitting. The one who would get my flower needed it not. Both the flower and the man below me had a set time on this earth. The flower, which had once seemed so alive, now reeked with the death that I knew would follow. I needed not worry about the flower dying on this man, for he had already passed. As I turned and walked away, behind me the flower twitched and shriveled to dust.

"Thats what we all are... dust," I mumbled.

I bowed my head, and walked on, but my heart stayed behind.



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I was drowning. Drowning in my own body, my soul submerged by the awful sadness that overtook me. As I kneeled at the foot of my fathers grave, I felt such sorrow, but mixed with resentment. It was an awful feeling, leaving no hope within me.

I could scarcely believe it had been 7 years. Seven years since my father had thought that life had no hope left. The lines of tears on my face must have looked like the lines on his wrist. Long, jagged, and frightening. I could remember that day with such vividness, but I chose not to. Better to shove the memory into my drowning soul, and let them perish together.

No! I would not leave my young son with the same pain I felt at this moment. I would live on, for hope was its own reward. Hope that I searched within myself so desperately to find. I read the date on the tomb again, but I was only halfway through before tears clouded my eyes, like clouds before a downpour.

The downpour struck, and my body was wrenched with deep terrible sobs. I couldn't stay a moment longer. To remain would drain me of any sort of will to live. I dragged myself to my feet, and stumbled off, without seeing anything but the blurred grave stones surrounding me. This whole place stank of pain and suffering. I was running now, trying desperately to escape the pain, to outrun time. I ran past all the gray, and saw a flash or red. I turned my head, and my legs struck a tombstone, sending me tumbling onto the ground. My breath left me, like the hope had done only minutes before. I gasped for breath, and turned my head. I saw the red that I had seen before, a deep blood-red, that seemed full of life. Odd that something in such a place could breath the wonders of creation. I drew myself up to get a closer look.

I stared upon the roses, bushes and bushes of roses, spreading out in all directions from a center point, like ripples in a pond. I rose, and walked over to the grave, and saw in the middle of this miniature garden of Eden, was a pale yellow rose, that was nearly dust.

From this death, life had risen. From this one small hope, many had followed. Suddenly I realized I knew what we were here for! We aren't hear for our own gain. The meaning of life goes so much farther than that.

Life has a beginning and an ending. The time in between is time to live and hope, and to spread that hope to all around you. Like this rose, live not for your own beauty and bloom, but work to bloom the world around you. Your influence spreads farther than you think.

I walked over, and cut a full, deep rose from one of the bushes. I walked over to the grave of the man who had been my beginning, and nearly my end. I placed the flower before his grave, and walked off.

I bowed my head and walked on, tears in my eyes, but my heart sang.