In my hand I held her
a fragrance that grows faint
she dipped into the sunshine
we insulted her with paint
*
In my hand I held her
not wanting to let her go
breezy calm like spring time
I wish they’d let her grow
*
In my hand I held her
though she damaged by the storm
the reds of hate assailed her
hopes and dreams were dashed and torn
*
In my hand I held her
she seems so out of reach
man bent on world dominion
her name – they call her Peace
Kim’s prompt for Poet’s United / Verse First is Close to the Source. When I saw the little blossom on my rose bush (this am), I felt the need to write this for her. The bugs and deer rarely leave a bloom. The symbolism is strong for this little rose.
penned in moon dust 
I love how the image is painted. Instead of colors it’s words. Thank you!
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Thank you Fida – the rose helped 🙂
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Reblogged this on Adaochia's Blog.
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The bloom is gorgeous, Leslie. The poem even more so. Loved this!
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Thanks for indintucrog a little rationality into this debate.
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That beautiful rose bud, has the look of a survivor. Such a lovely image connected well with your words.
Eileen
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Sometimes I feel that Peace is just a ghost that wonders in the rooms of our memory.
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a specter of the past indeed
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Love the photo and your words describe it well. Peace as fragile as a delicate rose bud. I would echo slp’s sentiments.
Elizabeth
http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/
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Leslie, what a beautiful rose and a touching post.. Let Peace live on.
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Reblogged this on sueshan123.
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Beautiful poem which seems to have all sorts of meanings beyond, though including, the literal.
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My grandmother loved her Peace Rose…….nice memories. Beautiful poem, yet again.
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This is way better than a brick & mortar eshbtlisament.
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peace: a most cherished thing now
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