Overcoming trauma to find peace, joy and forgiveness
This poem uses the rose as a metaphor for life’s beauty and pain, illustrating resilience amid hardships. The rose endures nature’s elements and flourishes despite its delicate vulnerability.
This poem begins a series of poems – Wilted No More, which reflects the different stages of Grace’s adult life – falling in love, falling out of love, marriage and motherhood. All of which she is yet to experience. Wilted No More is the sequel to The Wilted Rose book
The Wilted Rose book ends with Grace leaving home at 18. Though The Wilted Rose concludes, Grace’s pursuit of true love continues. Though her mother’s life began with the promise of becoming a rose, it wilted in mental illness. Grace’s adult life began full of hopes and dreams of love and happiness, just as her mother had decades earlier. Grace was determined to forge a brighter, healthier future for herself than her mother had lived, and it started with moving far away from the strict religion of her youth and her mother. Beverley Joy.
Petals so delicate, soft and fragrant, drenched in rich coloured hues of orange and yellow.
Layered and wrapped, petals holding each other, unfold to reveal a tender heart at the centre.
Easily bruised, tossed about by the wind, the sun’s heat gives energy, and the rain gives nourishment.
The rose, admired by many and considered precious,
Its sweet, gentle fragrance is received with pleasure.
Yet cursed by some who, in pure ignorance, handle it carelessly, then blame it for their wound.
The rose fulfils its purpose, not wanting to be another, content to be of its own kind of flower.
The rose does not wish it were a tree, tall and strong, living long.
It simply accepts nature’s nourishment and surrenders to that which is greater than itself.
Its presence and fame never fail to display the splendour and wonder of this flower so frail.
When it’s drenched with rain, it doesn’t complain
When the sun’s heat scorches, it turns to face it.
I see how my life reflects that of a rose, I too am easily bruised,
And feel tossed about by the winds of hardship and pain.
I’m admired by some and precious to them;
My sweet, gentle nature, they receive with pleasure.
I am cursed by some and blamed for their pain;
Both parties feel hurt, for they misunderstand.
When life scorches, my petals wilt
My fragrant drenched by storms
Yet, I soon revive, able to thrive
I am wilted no more.
Beverley Joy © 2014 Simply Story Poetry. All Rights Reserved.
Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay
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