Thorn

I am a poisonous thorn
among spring’s blooming flowers
crumpled leaves and petals
trampled by wandering feet.

Sanguine feet,
bloody thorn.
I stand alone, a roadside stone,
beside a field infested with thorns

The dusk sky of a golden evening
leans over the spumy, distant sea.
I watch my shadow, still black
unlike a stone,
a long shadow without desire or pain,
something only I can trust.

My fugitive past hastens, fading away,
leaving me behind, unworthy, forgotten.
Ah, nostalgia…
They were before me perfect life,
the blooming flowers of spring.
But I remain, standing
in a vast garden of thorns
becoming a thorn with time.