Chaotic rush of uninhabited thoughts
spilling mindlessly across atoms.
Ping balling, gaining speed in a forgotten
labyrinth of dark shadows of ecstasy.
If I reveal my blackened wings, will you
still see my halo among the thorns of survival.
Without thorns the rose is just a flower
with an unknown hint of fragrance
and without her subtle floral fragrance
she is just a flower with thorns.
Karen Hayward ©2016 (Words and image )