The Rose

The rose that never withers.

Rose

Searing pain
As he paints my shoulder,
Thorns ripping my skin,
My knuckles white as I grip
My chair,
Trying not to move.
It’s over,
Still burning, but that will
pass.
Smiling in spite of the pain,
I hand him a few folded bills.
Driving through the night,
On my way home,
Shoulder stinging
But smiling anyway.
Beneath the bandages,
A single red rose waits to be
Uncovered,
Never to wilt, never to
die.
A symbol of this day,
This turning point,
This milestone.
Let this flower forever be a reminder
Of the day my life became my own.