The Rose, My Rose

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
When I was going though a depressive stage in my life, I was unsure if my girlfriend would chose to stay with me, once her mother had found out about us, I wrote this about her. She is the Rose, the thorns, my view of her family.

Submitted: December 01, 2008

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Submitted: December 01, 2008

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The rose (A poem)

The Rose
The red rose Blossoms
Freshly from it's bud
The wild Thorn bush, That it's attached to
Protects the rose from me
I'm afraid, But still
I'm entranced by it's beauty
Young and Naive
Only in love with the 1st thing I see
Thats what I am told
But I love this rose in front of me
I have ever since it's bud formed
I reach up though the screaming thorns
They tear at me
but I'm immature so
I don't care
Finally I touch the blossomed rose
the blood on my hand matches it's color
and for a while I feel one with the rose
Blood darkens as it drys, Making it a mere hand again
Slowly I caress the rose
It's petals start to wilt
I quickly withdraw my hand
Many more scars will be set
as it turns blood red again
I watch the rose as it wilts, dies
I want to grasp it again
let my hand be one in one again
but instead I touch my fingers to my lips
"My gosh what have I done?"
The petals fall get caught in the thorns and reality sets back in.


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