Silent Rose
She's in a bubble she wants to break out of.
Intuitively she knows it's inevitable.
Out into the wild fragrances that get wilder the longer she waits.
Where her eyes are no longer expectant,
as they appear to be almost every minute of every day.
She's waiting for a signal , a communication like smoke signals but without the smoke.
It comes in a text message and she's bewildered for a moment because it's in English,
a language she was warned to stay away from unless she was willing to divide and conquer on a continuing basis.
She has a realization that she's a wild rose inside a raindrop,
falling through the atmosphere into wild rose country, passes through the clouds,
breathing in fragrances of things that live and are enabled to love.
A bit stage struck but she's prepared for the rapture that has been predicted
by the cognizance she could feel from before she could crawl,
predicted by the arrangement of the colors whenever she would awaken from dreams that are never forgotten.
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