Old sanctuaries made of roses
Bright red, in full bloom
With petals unwavering and bright
All eventually sprout thorns
Growing briars so thick,
So sharp and strong–
That your hands can no longer
Push through to peace
And eventually old safe havens
Become just that
Something settled in dust
Letting rust and shade
Cover all the shimmer and shine
And you are cast from sanctuary

No longer fit to grow among roses