The rose of revolution is red
With teardrops caressing its glossed cheeks
Fired by nature’s plentiful wishes for
Long life and constant bloom
It stands erect, its crimson head held high.
No wind, nor gale can change its mind nor
Rustle its leaves.
*
None can pluck this rose.
See how well its creator has provided…
The caress of an unfamiliar hand discovers
In its caress
The savage bite of the thorns –
a drop of humanity
trickles down,
down
among the petals
and the red of the blood clings to their surface
and two become one – the rose and the blood.
*
There is strength in its purpose
And it is all-encompassing
As the petals of the rose close
Inward
And cradle the secret of its existence
And its conception.
*
No wind nor gale can shake
The roots of this flower
Of the time
Of men
Petal and leaf and thorn link, steadfast
Against the changing seasons.
*
“How much for the pretty flower?”
(scissors and shears at the ready
to sever the head)
And nature’s course has come to a
decapitated
stalk
with brittle thorns bristled against
the ferocity of the autumn breeze.
*
…somewhere, the rose of revolution is red
with teardrops caressing its sunken cheeks.
About the Creator
Marie McGrath
Things that have saved me:
Animals
Music
Sense of Humor
Writing

Comments (5)
Oh, I can feel this. The emotions on this poem is so real 🤍
A really capturing poem♦️✍️🏆♦️♦️♦️♦️
What a powerful and haunting poem! It’s a subtle commentary on the cost of revolution, both for the cause and the individual. And that ending? The image of the rose, now teardrop-streaked and decapitated, lingers long after reading. Beautifully done!
A truly evocative and moving piece.
I looked up red rose revolution-- far more extensive of an allusion/metaphor? than I had expected- the line " scissors and shears at the ready to severe the head" was very powerful.