Written by: Allen Marshal
It’s beauty has entrapped him and he lost myself within.
Within that beautiful flower does his heart stand so grim.
For it had thorns that he did not see, for blinded he had become.
Blinded by it’s presence, for love is blind and to IT he had succumb.
Drops of water from the rain doth drip off the gentle flower
Drip…drip…drop…it flows down slower and slower..
The white flower with the rain drops looks as pure as pure can be,
Not a speck of dirty or imperfection as far as his eyes could see.
But oh, it has thorns and of the thorns he was unaware..
It had pricked his finger, pricked his heart and the blood flow is
where now he stares.
He stares and stares as the rose now turns from white to a hint of pink
The pink turns to red now, like it was dipped into a big red tub of ink.
The flower has now turned red and is white no more.
It’s purity now tainted with the blood of the one who had wished to hold.
Hold the flower his palm and call it his own.
But the flower could not be held, for the flower came with thorns…
With the last breath he had left in his lung he called this flower a
rose..
It symbolized love, it symbolized beauty, but love and beauty comes
with thorns…
Tags: Poetry/Art
