Rotate the leaf to see the thorns
beneath the face turned to the sun
there you’ll find a secret font
waiting for a soul that hurts

the smallest spikes draw fresh blood
slicing skin once thought whole
dismemberment is not their goal
instead the harm is life restored

rivulets pressed into the flesh
they’ll leave a mark when held fast
this is desired when the world
would do much worst if allowed

distraction spun from nature’s bite
now temporary in the rush
forgetting comes from the depths
only visited, not permanent

the light shines far too bright
with a shame few would accept
now the shade offers aid
bleeding comfort from pain’s recruits.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180418.