Why the Rose Keeps Blooming

author’s note:

The proof of what I say is you.


WHY THE ROSE KEEPS BLOOMING

Some believe
the rose struggles to break free from the bud
because it wants to be lovely
but no—
it’s possessed by a mad desire to live.

However
after opening its eyes
the flower may discover
it resides inside a little cage.

The rose may then sink into self-pity
but soon enough
that willful plant will rise up
to protest the injustice
and as the flower finds its strength
a new bloom will come from the old one.

The bars of the cage
will then surrender to its power
and fall down to the ground
like the dead shards of a husk.

But alas!—
beyond the parameters of fallen cell
the rose will find another cell.
So though our hero enjoys
the extra space it’s earned
it still feels caged.

And so, as before
the rose will rebel
and by struggling, grow some more
and so
the bloom will bloom once more.

But just as before
after the cage breaks open
a new cage will emerge from the shadows.

In this way, that stubborn perennial
will move through a succession of cages.
The irony is:
because it expands with each new blooming
no cell ever feels big enough for that plant.
And so, the rose continues to grow
to the very end.

Maybe like me
you look at your petals
and see brown blotches
and ragged edges—
our blooms reveal our battle wounds—
yes, in this fight for life we’re scarred.

So I will try to solace you now
by telling you what I tell myself:
a flower with a blemished blossom
always speaks lovelier
than one still stuck in a spotless bud.

mythsteps · why the rose keeps blooming

Survival: poetry book
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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

The Rose & The Boil

author’s note:

Gertrude Stein said:
“A rose is a rose is a rose.”

I say:
Don’t be so sure.


THE ROSE & THE BOIL

When by chance I saw my reflection...

the shock caused me to wonder
if I might be beautiful--
after all, I’d often been shocked
by beauty.

But as I examined the mirror
I noticed a red boil festering
on my chin.

Shocked again!
Repulsed!

Yet curious
about that hideous thing
simply because it seemed
so hideous.

But viewed at close range
the protuberance reminded me
of a red rose in bloom.

And why not?
Both red boils and red roses
seem so vibrant with life.

But in short time, I felt I’d seen enough
so I stepped back
and the sudden shift caused me
to see myself with new eyes:
my face now seemed strange
and a little grotesque
due to its strangeness.
Ugly as a boil.

But now you know a boil is rose
I told myself.

However
I did not really believe me.

So I satisfied myself with a truth
clear to see:

whether rose or boil
or a combination of both
that face of mine
was vibrant with life.

Soultime: a novel
© 2021, Michael R. Patton