Thunder and lightning came in
the morning while in the
arms of her love.
When safe, only moment and minutes before.
Life before, sweet and deep
after being loved as
deep as the ocean caresses beach,
making 2 into 1 and 1 into 2
before falling into the arms
of safety in those arms–
held there by breadth and depth of love.
Thunder and lightning flashes come,
breaking the peace of twilight with
the battering ram of noon sun, taking
this rose for her garden, snatching bloom
and stem, leaving thorns while the garden burns.
White the thorns pierce…
While the fire burns.
While the thunder and lightning
leave and suddenly as it has come–
leaving love to try and save the
roses before the life in it fades.
Needing the rescue of rain,
Only to be embraced by
The rush or tears in the soil of what was.
But there are seeds,
There were seeds.
Where there was one rose lost,
there are more coming…
Yet, the rose planted, is still gone.
Lost, found and irreplaceable–
and ignored bu the weeds,
fed by the tears.
-JBHarris, June 2020
(*-For Breonna Taylor. We remember. We will never forget.)