Dead Rose Garden

DEAD ROSE GARDEN

I see myself wandering in a dead rose garden,
Scrounging for something I’ve lost.
Rivers of tears rush down my cheeks,
Carving streams of sorrow into my skin.

I see the garden,
Oh, what a melancholy sight.
Amid the thorns and brittle petals,
I find a broken piece of a mirror.

The "something" I have been scrounging for,
It reflects my shattered self.
I collect it, only to cut my hand,
The blood oozing out bold and black.

But slowly, it turns red—
A sign of life returning.
And as my blood seeps into the soil,
The dead rose garden begins to stir.

The lifeless roses drink deeply,
Their brittle stems gain strength.
Petals bloom in vibrant hues,
And the scent of fresh roses fills the air.

Now that I’ve healed,
I vow to protect this fragile heart.
Let me not let myself get hurt again,
Let me feel the beauty of living—fully, completely.

For the dead rose garden now has life,
And so do I.

-sitaara