Thorns

About how one deals, or does not deal, with the fear of death.

THORNS


The petals were already beginning to wilt. The ugly, blackened edges made death seem so much closer than it ever had before. I was running from it, like I often do. Only recently has it begun to frighten me. It’s been happening too often now; these near misses. If I was a cat, my ninth life would be long gone. I know it’s coming soon…

That’s why I’m letting my fingers cling to the stem. The thorns are piercing my skin, letting small drops of blood stain the palm of my hands. I can’t let go. The rose is everything to me. It’s my only escape.

They say death is peaceful. That’s a lie if I ever heard one. It brings sorrow and pain to all that have ever loved you. And in the end, you’re alone. Don’t give me that talk of Heaven and Hell. For all we know, that’s just an excuse not to fear the end. It’s the denial of what will exist for us all: the end.

I cannot imagine a moment in time that I would not fear nonexistence. All that you know is over, just like the death of this rose; it’s a constant reminder. Things end. Life dissolves. It’s thrown away and forgotten. It’s something to fear.

I fear it with everything inside my soul. That’s why I cling to this rose. It’s my reminder to keep my eyes open; to stay prepared. Just as this rose will, I will die. I’ll come to an end and I will be forgotten.

Author's Note

I wrote this a semester back. Critique is welcomed and hoped for! Thanks guys!

Reviews

[Michael X]

omy, thank you, for rarely do i read such splendor of poetic ponder,
and vast in creativeness, yet takes the reader to the garden, lost and
we are found by every word that creates the tragedy and ending notions

left to beg the question, for what happens when we die?
and you've composed the merryment of wonder with guided
apprehension and the imagery is spellbound, and beautiful, a 100