Beholder's Bloom

Our fists were just recently
clenched as heavy knots
along the ropes we tied
to bind us

…but—

…our hands have calloused
and unwound to caress
suddenly the rope is a gingerly task—
only taut when teaching

From each hand’s palm has grown a problem—
and a beautiful one
ropes morph to root stem leaf
and flower

A delicate one
so fragile and clean
Its leaves soft… lively
resonating violet blush

For our palms have stayed
their calloused clenching
and from that stillness sprouts
comfort

But how does one work
with such delicate armaments?
with the Beholder's Bloom
taken root between the vice?

So this flower must surely die
writhing its death amidst strong grips
as the ropes pull and twist
as we strive for more than this

…but—

...if that flower is to stay
amidst these reedy ropes we play
than it must bend fast and hearty strong,
Or, alas… it will not live for long.