Wounded Lands: The Regal Rose and the Wayward Thistle
The Regal Rose and the Wayward Thistle
He’d been wearing a dead man’s clothes for far too long
He saw a face of a koi disappear in the dark murk of the pond
Water lilies, like lipstick on the night from women made of snow
He was waiting in the courtyard for a lover now unknown
A curtain of slate fell over the sky through the screaming screen door
Where she watched as he stared into the pond, unlike he had before
“Has my garden lost his beauty?” she asked him with a smile
As she came over to sit down by his side, on the many skulls he’d piled
Well her father had the world on the end of the tip of his worked tongue
He was friends with Ali Baba and the thieves and sold her dowry young
Hunting tigers, safely from elephants, in the royal amusement park
The archer took aim with headless arrows, but still they made their mark
“Why have you summoned me?” he asked her, not waiting for reply
He said, “I’ve been her bloody ax in many battles, and dull I’ve come to lie
For no longer can I be your right hand, I’ve met your enemy
And he’s offered the love that you promised but never gave to me
When it comes full circle
From wax to wane: complete
When the pen crawls from the well
And history soaks the ink…
What will our epitaphs be?
She looked up at the velvet seedpods of the tree that she leaned on
And she wondered how it came to this, sweet memories forgotten
A honey locust trembled upon the hill – she could see over the stonewall
Where the boy, who’s in the man no more, was found curled in a ball
She said, “I’m thinking about redemption, but I can’t pay the fee
If souls exist then mine’s been long sold, so I’m down to memory
And I’ve been living in this castle so long; you’re the only one I have
And I’ve murdered all the joy in your heart for a cause inherited”
When it comes full circle
From wax to wane: complete
When the pen crawls from the well
And history soaks the ink…
What will our epitaphs be?
He turned away, looking into the pond, for no longer could he face her
In the murk he saw the spirits of the dead, between the lilies, held prisoner
One her father and one her husband… and the third a nameless child
He killed them all – he smashed through every gate that kept her from the wild
But never could he free her, for she was rooted in the mortar
She was a pawn for gods of boredom; she was bound to follow order
Though he scorned her, his hated could not hide how he trembled at her door
When a wayward thistle falls for a regal rose, he loves her for her thorns
When it comes full circle
From wax to wane: complete
When the pen crawls from the well
And history soaks the ink…
What will our epitaphs be?
He said, “There’s little good between us; there ain’t a nugget in the river
Though our options weren’t a handful, we chose the paths of sinners
The memories you ask of me I’d ask of you, but I know we’d both deceive
So farewell my love, the slate is cleansed with night, but I came only to leave…
So farewell my love, the slate is cleansed with night, but I came only to leave…”
He’d been wearing a dead man’s clothes for far too long
He saw a face of a koi disappear in the dark murk of the pond
Water lilies, like lipstick on the night from women made of snow
He was waiting in the courtyard for a lover now unknown
A curtain of slate fell over the sky through the screaming screen door
Where she watched as he stared into the pond, unlike he had before
“Has my garden lost his beauty?” she asked him with a smile
As she came over to sit down by his side, on the many skulls he’d piled
Well her father had the world on the end of the tip of his worked tongue
He was friends with Ali Baba and the thieves and sold her dowry young
Hunting tigers, safely from elephants, in the royal amusement park
The archer took aim with headless arrows, but still they made their mark
“Why have you summoned me?” he asked her, not waiting for reply
He said, “I’ve been her bloody ax in many battles, and dull I’ve come to lie
For no longer can I be your right hand, I’ve met your enemy
And he’s offered the love that you promised but never gave to me
When it comes full circle
From wax to wane: complete
When the pen crawls from the well
And history soaks the ink…
What will our epitaphs be?
She looked up at the velvet seedpods of the tree that she leaned on
And she wondered how it came to this, sweet memories forgotten
A honey locust trembled upon the hill – she could see over the stonewall
Where the boy, who’s in the man no more, was found curled in a ball
She said, “I’m thinking about redemption, but I can’t pay the fee
If souls exist then mine’s been long sold, so I’m down to memory
And I’ve been living in this castle so long; you’re the only one I have
And I’ve murdered all the joy in your heart for a cause inherited”
When it comes full circle
From wax to wane: complete
When the pen crawls from the well
And history soaks the ink…
What will our epitaphs be?
He turned away, looking into the pond, for no longer could he face her
In the murk he saw the spirits of the dead, between the lilies, held prisoner
One her father and one her husband… and the third a nameless child
He killed them all – he smashed through every gate that kept her from the wild
But never could he free her, for she was rooted in the mortar
She was a pawn for gods of boredom; she was bound to follow order
Though he scorned her, his hated could not hide how he trembled at her door
When a wayward thistle falls for a regal rose, he loves her for her thorns
When it comes full circle
From wax to wane: complete
When the pen crawls from the well
And history soaks the ink…
What will our epitaphs be?
He said, “There’s little good between us; there ain’t a nugget in the river
Though our options weren’t a handful, we chose the paths of sinners
The memories you ask of me I’d ask of you, but I know we’d both deceive
So farewell my love, the slate is cleansed with night, but I came only to leave…
So farewell my love, the slate is cleansed with night, but I came only to leave…”
posted by Cory Capron at 1:13 AM
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