It was her Punishment, and her Salvation
For all Eternity, sentenced to stare at that Wall
To stare, and to remember a world she never knew.

Behind her back she reaches Forever
Hands impossibly gnarled, a story told in each wrinkle
Into those hands placed a Rose.

Her Punishment - flail herself with the Rose
To wound, to scourge, to cut and bleed
Thorns dig at skin, thorns dig at Shadow, Thorns dig at Sin


Petals softer than silk, more soothing than the coolest balm
Whispering strokes spread comfort, ease pain, bring peace
The Rose revitalizes what the thorns tear asunder.

Every hour, of every day, Forever.

[This mini-poem was from Hyperion's blog - "Institutionalized"]

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