An impostor sun rises
on separate pillows
between
the two lying in state
untouching.
Dawn stands up only to hesitate
in that morning light which darkens
immediately on a loveless bed.
The pillow mint is rock hard;
Wilted Roses have bled.
He speaks:
'You know
I have been
faking it.'
She says 'me too'.
It was not Sunrise.
It was a Rosy-Thorned beginning;
not light;
but a paler night;
not day;
but it was less dark;
not yet New Love
but no longer hardened hearts
feigning.
Not new flowers
but a tiny seed
promising first
only pale redemption
and later perhaps more.
Lonnie Hicks
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rosy-thorned/
