The Life of a Rose


There was once a rose who’s red indeed

In a field full of precious deeds

It was quite shy and afraid of touch

That was why it built thorns around its house

 

It may look strong and fine

But inside there was a hidden bawl

Raw and edgy at its finest

Fragile and pained at its lamest

 

The rose was filled with joy

When it saw a hand in close

Wishing to be touch, wishing to be hold

Wishing to feel love on its thorns

 

And that hand reached for its thorns

Doesn’t mind if such blood will flow

To dumb and careless to know

That both of them will be doomed

 

The rose was plucked from its home

And the hand remained its hold

The rose thought everything was settled

Not until the hand bleed

 

The redness of the blood and rose emerged

They are not meant to be together, I’ve heard

The rose thought the hold will last

But the hand freely let it off the grass

 

So, don’t pick a rose to see its beauty

If you’re not willing to risk a piece

To hold unto it

Lastly

 

 

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The Life of a Rose

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