Page 33 - Images Literary Magazine 2016 - 2017.pdf

She never thought he?d be in harm,
The Rose Her disregard did show,
Pictures by J aelyn Dias, Brynne But little did she know,
By Olivia Collucci, Molly Dolan, Kara Gilliam, Grade 8 ?I?m sure he fine,? she always said,

Travelling down the peaceful path, Harrison, and Oliva Strumolo The rose seemed to turn bright scarlet red,

That Chara always goes, Unlike the pink before,
Until there came that eerie boy, It smelled of sickness, death, and gloom,
The petals red and gore.
Who handed her a rose.
As days had passed the boy seemed worse
Its petals bright and full and vivid,
And fronds fell one by one
Its stem was green as life,
The stem was skewed with thorns of pain
Upon that stem a single thorn,
But the worst was still come.
Shining keenly as a knife.
Chara stood upon the path
Its scent was strong and very sweet,
The rose was dead and gray,
Its fronds were soft and thin,
The boy did not appear that night,
The leaf had whispered a lullaby,
Nor any other day.
As it fluttered in the wind,
Chara went around the town,
The boy stared at Chara then,
Searching every twisted path,
Shyly and with fright,
Regret had flashed before her eyes,
She held his hand with scars bright red,
It was flaming red with wrath.
And overlooked the sight,
Her friend had fallen to the sky,
The next day the boy was back,,
With Chara?s life still standing,
And waved so gingerly,
She threw the rose down to the Earth,
But yet his arm was bruised and harmed,
Her guilt was still expanding.
And his face was washed of glee.
She cried the tears of regretted sin,
?I?m fine,? he whispered timidly,
But how could she forget,
The rose Chara held low,
And then she saw that full rose bush,
A sudden thorn had pricked her hand,
That thrived with every breath.
And from it did blood flow.
Even though the boy was gone
In desperation and utter pain,
Roses never left her mind,
She pressed her fingers on her lips,
Reminded of what she could have done,
The blood had tasted of hard cold metal,
To save the boy from time.
Flowing from her fingertips,

The next day they did meet again
And Chara held his hand,

His fingertips as cold as ice,
And palms as rough as sand.