The Roses that Wept
by Jonathan Martinez
Roses and shrubs cover the area. Green, healthy leaves are bound to their branches tangled like a spider’s web. Roses hang on shrubs like ornaments. Great, blooming roses. Light pink, just like the statue’s hair. She is secluded to only a few. She stands immortalized on a fountain. She stands tall on her pedestal. She is beauty. She is wonder. Today, though, she stands with her head down. Her long and wondrous pink curls cover her face. She has her hands out. She seems to be praying. Her eyes are closed tight and water seeps out of them. She cries these tears because of love. All she wishes to do is to help-- to be a part of something good. She cries because she knows what she is bound to. She continues to cry these tears; nothing can stop her deep regret. Tears run down her body like a running stream. In the air, rose petals are pushed by wind and dance as they fall from the sky. Each petal follows its own movement. They dance in front of the crying statue; they cannot do anything to stop her tears. Wind dies down. These petals cannot continue. They fall to the floor. The crying statue cannot be healed. This was the day when I finally set my eyes upon the petals.
These are the roses that wept.
These are the roses that wept.
Jonathan is an amateur writer and musician aiming to become a songwriter.
