LOOKING.
When I, on looking closer at
sun-flavoured roses see
how sweetly they all meet
some holy decree of quietly
being themselves and
letting me just be me I find
something vital drops
into my rusty heart, like
sunlight which awe unlocks.
Proverbial coating begins to
feel raw like a knife
has slit the outside of plush
pleached thought, my eyes
widen to the truth
of one single moment rushing
by and I suddenly realize why
a rose desires to be
simply naught but beautiful.