Rosy-Thorned Poem by Lonnie Hicks

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.