Roses are Red, This Poem is Life

Roses are Red, This Poem is Life

by Beau Maysey

We start with a spark, because a spark is beautiful,

We caress a bubble, boil, and trouble, because spell- crafting is magical,

We string a bow and catch a flying muse by the leg,

It soars us past the purple crests of imagination.

We return to the spark, and a pop and sizzle ring out,

Smoke flows out the ears, a fire inside the soul drives away doubt,

We string a guitar and catch a melody by its tapping beat,

It sings of dangers and hopes hidden beneath cracks on desolate peaks.

We kindle our fire with the branch of detailed imagery,

We swing on a thorny rose vine between ecstasy, dread, and misery,

The fireflies of inspiration guide us past wandering corridors,

We view a painting of a window through the third eye of a sorcerer.

We punch a clock, lock a trembling door, spread our flames out on the floor,

Add salt, add drumbeat, add black monsters to make the heat roar,

The story tap is to the left of the unknown, then two steps back,

The entrance is on a post- it cheering “Go for it!”, stuck to a thumbtack.

We find ourselves on a river in golden waters, on a desolate land,

Run grimy fingers through the diamond- studded seascape and the sand,

We wrap it all in a spider web and hurl it into the pot,

We now have a soup of all the dreams and memories we forgot.

We let it simmer and a take a sip… ooh!, still too bitter!

Let it ferment through the year and flutter out in winter,

Watch the creation bloom and see inside an endless ocean,

We weave our thoughts onto lined paper, dripping with emotion.

Sigh and stomp your feet, proclaim, “My work is growing bland!”,

Tears roll down, we toss our masterpieces in garbage cans,

We wait the week out and go back and grab the crumpled pages,

It whispers to us, “Relight the torch, release plots from cages.

We dance the Sun down, write up the margins, the tale has been reborn,

Bring it to life and ask it everything you’ve never stopped to learn,

We’ll smash impossibility and cut risk into simple worries,

Close the blinds to “No you can’t” and shy from “You must hurry”.

Lift your magnificence to the moon enthusiastically,

1001 days and 42 nights you’ll emerge triumphantly.

(Note: this poem was included as part of a theater performance called "Verse" staged at Tampa Prep)