The Wildest of Roses

the wildest of wild roses

Poetry by Linda M. Crate

You want the light magic and dream of me
without having to face
the nightmares,
but nothing good comes for free;
Magic comes at a price, darling,
and i’m someone you cannot afford so i would
keep walking if i were you
instead of wasting your time here
Yes, it’s true, i aspire to always be light and love
flowers and dreams and peaceful streams,
but that’s just not realistic;
Sometimes i am fangs and blood
war and unreasonable demands
knives and daggers
and my tongue is the blade that cuts deeper than the bones—
I am intense, passionate, and a dreamer
full of paradoxes and confusion;
deep wells of kindness and sharp daggers of regret
my heart is a rose with petals of kindness but also with the sharpest of thorns
I know the darkest parts of me would conspire only toward your defeat
so seek me not—
I am not the type of flower you pluck from the ground
because if you truly loved me you would leave me where i stood
love is appreciating someone and not seeking to possess them,
and i am too wild to be owned;
I must instead be admired.


Read it in the July Opal Magazine!

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