Clueless Ink

Voila, voila: to me the song shouts in blood red,

Here I am.

–

The first image that came to me?

A rose I clicked recently.

And I sat with that thought.

She defined Voila for me.

–

She knows how to wound,

she sleeps with these pointed thorns,

some hers,

some taken along the way.

–

Yet,

she stands,

confident,

a symbol of love.

She blooms,

drawing people toward her true self.

–

We approach her

red, pink self,

with care,

knowingly,

accepting her as she is.

–

Even with her thorns,

she is remembered as love,

as beauty,

blood red for fire,

pink for our wintery hearts,

yellow-orange, just Voila,

and for some, as one true queen of flowers.

Voila!