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A Quest for the Princess
by Cameron J. Herrington

I hold the rose that often bled my hand, 
Never learning, listening, letting go.
I held it through anguish, passion, demand, 
Crying crimson tears on fabric below. 
How long before I crush its frail petals? 
What might happen should I bleed no more? 
This bud, valued more than any metal 
Locked 'neath sands near my amorous shore. 
I lie so far and distant from forgotten bliss;
Bound in a maze of unseen emptiness. 
Yet, through pain and conflict I shall still wish 
Your rose will bleed your hand no less;
And that, if time and love may still permit, 
Your hand shall be my rose's last requite. 

Poem ID: 1578   Poem Posted: 2/14/1998
Viewed: 15591  Voted On: 668  E-mailed: 206  Commented On: 15
 
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