Ode to a Red Rose

He felt he walked amid lush gardens
Yet never saw a flower in bloom
Only wizened, twisted, dying roots and stems
Gasping for a fluid kiss from parched soil
Even these turned their faces from him
A mocking reverse osmosis
With gales of laughter
Echoing across a near-barren landscape
He yearned to see beauty
In these fields of loneliness
But saw little, felt little
Hoped for nothing
And laid his beating heart
At the base of the starving foliage
An offering in the name of beauty unknown
He watched
As the desperate spirits
Entwined his soul
And choked on the poison
Of lost hope, of unrealized dreams
He reached out amid the still darkness
Grasping for a long, cool rest
Even death, in disgust, turned away
Leaving him to bathe in emptiness
His eyes, closing, reaching for night
Caught a glimpse of red
A single rose
Casting a crimson shadow
Across a vast sea of nothingness
Compelled, he reached out
Laid a petal, gently, on the palm of his hand
Stroked it gently with his thumb
Fearing its escape
On a breath of wind
He held it with greater urgency
Noting a pink hue kissing his fingerprints
Reveling in his handiwork
He held it more tightly
Delighting as the pigment filled each crevice
The cycle continued, the color flowed
He laid back, facing the sky
Joyous in his handiwork
Basking in his glory, smiling
He rested his head
And saw at last
In a red, red hand
The lifeless petals, the broken stems
Red paint dripping through his fingers
A masterpiece of his creation
His and his alone
All alone