Throne of Thorns

Or so I thought.

I see you

on a dark, rough path-

at the very end, just my luck.

It’s a far walk-

plants grown over the dirt-

the overgrowth piles higher and higher as the path stretches on

     (is this the build up of all of my desperate attempts to reach you?),

but I can still see you-

barely-

and that’s all that matters.

Thorns, tempting me,

sticking out everywhere,

beckoning me with their sharp tips.

(It’s a sure way to feel pain-

it’s better than feeling nothing.)

I think of the rose lying there, I imagine holding it and giving it to you.

All I want is to get to you,

to be close to you,

no matter the price.

So I walk across the packed down plants over the path.

I don’t even remember which attempt this is now,

and I don’t bother looking at the countless scratches, bites, cuts and gashes-

all the scars I’ve received from trying to touch you again.

But like I said, I don’t think about them.

I just keep going

and then I get to the higher part, the place of my last failure-

I am determined to get to you.

This is indeed the path less traveled by, 

I think to myself as I see the wall of thorns trying to block me from you-

and then I get angry,

not because of the blood trickling down my leg from another thorn,

but because these thorns-

They’re trying to keep me from you.

And they think they will win.

So I begin to rip the vines and branches and stems apart with my hands-

A bloody task,

A desperate measure indeed,

but I know it will be worth it.

I’ve been with you before-

long ago, it seems-

I remember how it felt to touch you

and how happy we both were.

Then

out of nowhere

how you stopped wanting it.

Instantly the wall of thorns began forming.

I held on to your hand to the very last second-

Until they finally carried me away to the end-

Until THEY thought it was far enough from you-

and at first it didn’t seem like much,

but then I tried breaking through

and now I’m back, staring at my red hands,

not giving up,

not even pausing for breath or reflection.

If I do, I’ll go back to where I started-

The pain will get to me-

The sorrow will pierce through me more than even the biggest thorn could-

and I will have to cry again,

and start over when my mind goes dull-

when I start thinking of the good times

or nothing at all.

I’ve gotten much further this time,

thinking about not thinking about the pain 

and the memories.

He’s so close.

He’s like that one rose in the bouquet that makes it beautiful.

He’s the only one that is even necessary.

He is the epitome of beauty.

Can’t he see?

No one will ever see him like me,

   (as close to perfection as one can get)-

No one will ever love him like I do

   (enough to tear myself apart for him).

I am so close-

just rip, tear, kick, climb...

but he takes a step   b   a   c   k

right as I am almost over the highest part of the wall,

and I suddenly see what a game I am to him,

what a fool I am making of myself.

I watch him take a seat on his throne of thorns

and, oh, there it goes,

the pain hits me like a train going full speed that crashes into the ocean

and the sorrow washes over me like a tidal wave.

The thorns know what I am thinking

and it all grows back,

taking me back to the little dirt spot where I began.

The rose has wilted now,

but I know with water and sunshine it can live again.

So despite what people may think

I cut down all the trees-

pray for rain-

and wait for a new path to form.

Reviews

[sharonlee]

Whew.... what a journey! I was hypnotized by this struggle...found myself reading faster & faster and wanting to shout 'Be Strong!'


peace & inspiration