For He Who Sleeps in the Forest of Thorns

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 29, 2018

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Submitted: September 29, 2018



There once was a Rose, and upon its stem there were no thorns for it did not yet know the Darkness. In this bloom there was an abundance of love— the truth of this, none other than the Moon can attest. Soon, this flower would shun the Light.

The young bud learned the ugliness of the Light and transformed from a wild, crimson rose into a flower of stone. So tragic was this the Moon could not help but weep. Now withered, her thorns grew sharp and barbed. Within her, love died and died, and died some more—all that remained was the Darkness.

Sanctuary and solace were the Darkness, only lies and pain existed in the garish Light. The maze of her heart was filled with hatred—love could only be found in the form of a black rose, the likes of which were guarded by thorns— the only thing allowed near it was the radiance of the Moon.

The wan glow of the crescent moon seemed, for a time, to keep at bay the shadows of the Darkness, so much so, the mordacious and sharp thorns receded and left the stem bare, allowing light to consume and reanimate the once petrified Rose— for, although it was a delusion, she thought it was Love.

Tainted in a thick, inky blackness, that love— in the face of truth—revealed this crescent to be a joke of a moon. Starved of all which she needed, the Rose once again, unbeknownst to her, looked into the eyes of darkness. To one whom thrived in the midst of oblivion, the Light could do little to relax the newly resurrected thorns.

However, a new sovereign, who’s warmth reached passed the thorns, lit up her inner world all at once, inspiring a Love that grew steadily and irrevocably so a new Light was born. At this, the evanescent Moon could not help but smile and surrender the darkness as the wilted blossom was born anew a scarlet Rose.

Even in this new Light, ever watchful remains the Moon as she grasps desperately through his thorns for his Love, straining through his Darkness for his bruised Rose.

© Copyright 2019 Chandanie Devi. All rights reserved.

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