...a Bed of Roses
With feigned prudence you say,
“Life is NOT a Bed of Roses.”
Despite all that lay before you?
Even beyond that which meets the eye?
Everything in Duality.
Good and bad in perpetual tango.
Virtue, by latent potential...
...to metamorphose into its basest form.
Then in reverse order.
Rid your thoughts, your lips of this erroneous saying.
It only lays bare your myopia. Mentally.
Even Providence lay not gold on a silver platter.
I am a Bed of Roses,
Fragrant. A velvet touch.
As you lie, unavoidable yet,
Be reminded of the Thorns.
Marie-Franz Fordjoe is a broadcast journalist with CITI FM in Accra.