~ "Greater he that is in you than he that is in this world."
-John 4:4
Sweaty palms grapple the wooden banister,
Nervous eyes flit to the periwinkle velveteen skyline,
Surrounded by a flock of vultures yet you stand alone,
Feet heavy as marble stone that struggle to climb the rickety steps,
Your silken dress hangs heavy on your flushed skin,
You are petrified, you can't think straight,
One of the prison guards has to help you to the block,
Stained with the hundred lives it has claimed,
Your next on the menu today,
Only eighteen summers old and yet destined to die on this February morn',
For your sins, the sin of love,
You loved just not your husband; the king,
Gave yourself away foolish child,
Yet that's what you are, just a child,
An ill fated pawn in a bloody game of chess,
But it was a matter of life and death,
And you lost,
The Rose Without a Thorn.
No…
There were thorns,
They were there all along,
Just hidden,
In the softest of pouches.