Turn Your Tears to Roses

Pain lances through the soul
forcing a single anguished tear to fall.

The drop rests serenely in the glaring sun
as it slowly seems to be transformed,
closing off the sunlight, becoming dead, dull.

Creases deepen to grooves.
Drop takes shape.
Curves become sharp, foreboding.
Beatutiful.

Tear that was,
rose that is,
removed from its place, taken to adorn
that from which it was born.

Dropped from young lover's pale hand
to shatter among lesser flowers
on the ebony wood of eternity.

> Pain