Rosa Juliet

A sort of metaphorical prose poem about a specific rare flower known as a Rosa Juliet (or Juliet Rose)

A quaint Rosa Juliet lies, blended in the sea of its brothers and sisters in the public garden. It looks no different to the others yet there’s a voice folded within the petals, calling to those without ears. When a glass canvas swiftly captures its beauty, dreamy yellow engulfs its petals, a rare and unheard of change that soothes the eye. As the first one goes, another arrives, waiting to capture a new lovely shade, homey lilac twirling with innocent white travel across its petals, eradicating any sight of the yellow once upon a time. It’s quite the lovely sight to watch blends of colours from seductive red to baby blue burst along the flower, unique to each painter that comes by. I wonder how that lone flower could muster all the energy to metamorph into infinite shades of colour beyond what the blind artists can interpret. As the sun now descends the horizon, every canvas is satisfied and whole, ready to go home. I turn to look at the quaint flower, an eerily strange mix of midnight silver adorned with blotches of seaweed green and a variety of other colours. The unsettling mix bores itself deep into my heart but such a complex shade is hard to interpret. Slowly as the stars shift across the sky, a petal softly falls to its demise. As if irritated, the foot of a stranger crushes the flower in a ruthless murder, making sure to spill all of its blood onto the soil bed. Its poor brothers and sisters take no notice, or maybe they know but simply don’t care. The last star sweeps the horizon, making way for the waking sun and in that moment I wonder, was that the foot of a stranger or mine?