The Rose by Shawne Fielding

And, in not so much as - a deafening blow of goodbye - it was all over, the harsh reality of wishes - simply never able to be fulfilled - was no longer a stride in his step - she was gone from his grasp. One held - in assumption - tightly by his pride.

Broken ribs again - her histories of non intended therapies - inflicted, simple, really ... "accidents" or serious - and then there was the physical abuse...of her body - her face - years worn to withers - done by insecure men - for whom the sun rose and set on her obedience - to a parade long passed by - as she cared not for brutisism and bow downs and only her independence.

These fractured ribs kept her from laughing or crying. 

As - she was never held as a delicate blooming bud - but - only as the perfect finished, stiffened rose to be hardenly displayed. This - is of which she was never - and, therefore... left un-nurtured was conditioned to accept harsher climates of men's tortured souls.

It was her body - the road map of Frost's path - and somehow - it did make all the difference - but it didn't matter - she was exhausted from the life's journey - at only 46 -- and if the walls could talk they would  illustrate why she was a treasure.