out of the broken battlefield,
out of the lonely streets,
out of the voice that cries;
out of the tears
that flow in your eyes,
out of the story
you tell me
of the life you
have lived,
the cold, blight;
out of the sorrow,
out of the grief,
the hard-fought struggle,
the sigh or relief,
emerges the rose,
the rose that blooms,
quietly asserting
its song to the sky.
tentative
unfurling, like a child
that climbs,
it spreads its hymn,
its heart,
its smile.