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- Last Login
- 11/16/2007 4:06 pm
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- 824
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- Member Since
- 01/22/2007
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- Male
About
A RoseLove is a rose-so beautiful at glance
With a fragrance so sweet.
But to grasp it, to keep it for myself.
has only resulted in pain
The rose has now broken from
the roots that would let it grow strong-
it is now just an object
to be admired for its beauty,.
and never touched again.
The thorns have cut deeply, wounding the hand
and the heart, that now knows never to try
and hold such a delicate creation
Soon the rose will wilt and die,
and the petals will start to fall.
Just because this magnificent flower,
was plucked before its prime.
The rose is now gone, as it's been for years.
It faded away to a memory, a memory that
brings tears to my eyes and a great pain to my
heart. I have kept the memory, tucked it away
where no one can see.
But more roses bloom,
and the pain is forgotten, and we finally
find the one rose...the one with no thorns,
the one that never dies.
Journal
All I Hear is Blah Blah blah!
You talk and all I hear is Blah Blah Blah!
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