The Paper Garden

The petals he folds from paper
Like the fragile fruit of feeling
From his fingers find shape or
Fragrance flowered with meaning

He came to dance; to find an obsession
It is his spirit that needs to bloom
In shadow, he wilts, needing affection
As his eyes are gently searching the room

For a woman, so warm and caressive
One dance would end his torment
The music drowns him in waves oppressive
Enshrouded in darkness, he folds his paper adornment

His thornless roses still do prick deadly
Deeply rooted in pain and isolation
As full of color as Nature’s medley
Virulent as Woman’s sin against God’s Nation

As time passes he erects his garden
Well watered by the tears he’s shed
Over themes that make hearts harden
And wise men wish for death instead