A rose is active in the storm, Its smell is an unexplainable redolence It thrives to flourish.
A rose will wither away inside a crystal vase or on firm ground. A liquid substance is necessary to live and to rise, just like He rose.
I wish to know the first time you blushed. I wish I were there to pick you up when you fell as a child for the first time, and leaves fell to the ground. I wish I were there the moment petals where stripped away from your body.
I wish to see you speak with radiant tenderness. Your words and syllabus pierced through doors, doors that were permanently locked in the heart of stone.
Meanwhile, I am just an ovule wishing to respond in a corollary way that slowly grows in a dark world but like you rose I will rise.