Thorns Medal

Dark Rose
Wandering, pondering, throughout the arcives of dreams.
Reading through numerous volumes of what each one might mean.
Sadness and happiness is defining each and every thought, of all the battles we have fought.
People laughing, people crying, picking the roses of life.
Gently, avoiding the thorns, so we cause no scorn.
Tiny cracks of sunlight seep through the dark petals.
Glistening against all the medals, that you won.
Miracle, or experience?
The single dark rose in the vase on the table,
bursts into life as so many before.
So many not capable, but you?
Yes, you.
Haven't the experience to regain the lost dark rose,
or, have you?
You are the gardener, the first step in the new rose's life.
All the past roses, red.
Deep,
red.
Haven't you realized?
The dark rose treasured so dear,
are all the red roses you hold near?
Experienced at plucking roses, but lost what you thought the dark rose,
Now, do you have the experience to handle the last dark rose?