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Heidi Franke Apr 24
He called in for a shower after being alone on the streets for a week.

Is that time enough
to get ***** for a shower
   as a man nearly twenty-six
in years.
She could turn him away
like her father’s sister
might have and did.
From time to time.

It all depended on how many times in a week,
month, or year
he would show up without a call.
Without knowing he still existed.

Somehow, his presence and
were a mixed blessing.
His presence was like a merry-go-round
that goes against the earth’s pull.
Like a brazen thorn
stuck into your shoe.
******* all the ***** things in.
Taking everything in its sight
and power and making
everything contort
to his reality.
Where he and only he resided.
Would she open the door for him?

What she does know
is that she might risk speaking
in a bright happy voice
of a mother
so gladsome to see her son.
Welcoming him in.
Rather than turning him away
because of his inconvenience.
Grief is inconvenient.
That is one thing she knows.
Notes on helping a mentally ill adult child. Copyright 2023 @ Highwireart
Shofi Ahmed Jan 30
Pure beauty
Atop hills of thorns
A rose
Full stop.
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2022
Don't be upset
with the rose
thorns are meant
to be close!
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2022
A thorn
sits  close
to the rose.
𝙶𝙽𝙶 May 2022
   𝕾𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖉 "𝕴 𝖉𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖉𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖓𝖘."
Just a quickie I wrote.

He tries to do everything,
just for her to look his way...
She looks away.

© snoW
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2022
The rose is at the tip of the fingers
the thorn is down the abyss what now
is a golden sun in a dew
hanging on its petal balmy hue!

The nightingale did jump on it  
first thing in the morn
but one seems to know the rose
since the dawning of the dawn!
Mancy Aug 2021
Stranded in darkness
by the hands of warmth

Wounded heart
sank so deep

Colder and colder
Alone and broken

Foolish self
never learned the lesson

Hoping for love
ascended from the hurt

Walked into the garden
where colors mask agony

Sweet little lies
Swooned the vulnerable

Fell for a rose
smiled so beautifully

Anxiety rushed in
held it tight

Stung by its thorns
cried for help

Cried all alone
colder and colder

Scars to the deep
alone and broken, again.

Vicious cycle of hope
Crippled the innocent

Again and again
nightmares and flowers

Again and again
Fancied and abandoned

Again and again
love and despair

Again and again
alone and broken.
Laconic Noor May 2021
Unscented flower

Things went south
As you utter pleasantry
That comes with titter

I stayed disheartened
In-between forced laugh;
Caused by ancient occasion

Waiting with bated breath for fortuity to cut-off the lines
I thought, I have never been
Impatient to arrive at the period while writing a sentence

Predicament has once again occurred ;
Scratching off thorns on my flower scene played in my head

En voyage to holocaust
A sigh whether of relief or misery have escaped between my lips

Deep breath I took
In dread that you would
Take away the scent from my flower once you depart
I picked her from the garden of Eden
My sweet forbidden rose
The petals of her thighs are a gift that only women have known
I plucked her from the rose bush and felt a pain in my side
A thorn had pierced me deeply and I began to cry
I was destined to be connected to the thorn for life
When sweet forbidden roses were my true desire
I dropped her in the garden of Eden
Along with my hopes and dreams
Now the wound in my side is my constant reminder
Of what could have been
what could have been
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