Photo by Corina Rainer on Unsplash
A bruised rose wounded my window sill,
The reflection is no longer a mirror.
A harp played in the silver storm—
Time bent where the silence grew dimmer.
A bruised rose wilted beneath the chill,
As shadows curled beneath the door.
A bruised rose whispered on my window sill—
“You won’t see her face anymore.”
About the Creator
Angel Aguilar
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Welcome to my writing world where I practice my short stories, poetry, and free writes
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Comments (3)
The imagery and the message is powerful! Nice work!
The imagery you have presented here with the bruised rose was so well done. Especially when I had to read to the end to find out that the bruised rose, might be a certain someone. The rose wounding the window sill, makes me think of thorns. But yet the soft petals of the rose, was the dominant figure that took over my imagination. There's a certain magic here, it's like the meaning is hidden... Maybe the effect of the pain is no longer a mirror... This was like an intellectual dance, I really do like it a lot. Well done Angel ❤️🤗
Love it 😍🔥🔥