//mypoeticside.com/

Michael Edwards

WHERE NO ROSES GROW

 

 

WHERE NO ROSES GROW

 

 

A place of bleak darkness

where doors and steps project

out into lampless streets;

a place where no roses grow

 

No hope is worn by naked souls

but cast on granite stones

unseen, exposed and soon

ground down to dust by churning heels.

 

Writhing  bodies in night-sweat  beds

within the interspace of  hours

succumb to fettered pride

as apparitions dance in shades of  grey.