Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Rose by Sara Menold

Sometimes I don’t know when I dream and when I am awake.
A cacophony of voices assails my ears.
Which are real? Are any?
Am I a princess, or a demon? I have been called both,
But I don’t feel like either.
I am just Rose – nothing more, nothing less.
Does anyone truly see me? Many claim
To have my best interests at heart.
But how then, can they speak such opposite things?
I wish I could shut out every voice and just hear
The truth within myself.
But when I do, I find nothing within
Only emptiness.
The sweet trill of birdsong pierces
The barricades I have raised around me.
A hand brushes my veil aside and lifts my chin,
And I see myself reflected in the eyes of One who is Truth.
My pale-moon face with all its lines and crags, exposed –
Naked. Real. Beautiful.
…Beautiful? Yes.
Who am I? I ask. The answer comes,
Swift and sure: You are my child.
And I find that is all I need to know.

No comments:

Post a Comment