Red rose, red
rose,
they want you to pose!
They worship
your scarlet petals,
held so highly but so little do they know.
~
You were a
young innocent bulb but you were neglected,
you hadn’t
yet bloomed, therefore rejected.
~
You were
born wild, you only had yourself.
When you
were moved to the city, it only worsened
your health.
~
You grew
thorns for protection because they wouldn’t notice.
They hadn’t thought to look past the leaves.
If they did
they would see your stems so grotesque
but wouldn’t
imagine the roots rotting underneath.
~
But then one
day a boy noticed your bulbs, he found them intriguing.
He had
become as awkward with words as he
was endearing.
He held you
up through every storm as he became your trellis,
You had nothing
special but with all he gave you, it
made others jealous.
~
That man
gave you new soil, a breath of fresh air.
He watered
you gently and noticed your thorns,
as you began
to question them yourself, new buds were born.
Your roots
had revived when you were treated
with care.
~
He was proud
to show you, his rose, only with your
consent.
People began
to see your true color, if only they
knew how much it meant.
~
You finally opened your petals to
them.
~
You opened
up too far however, for you were mistaken,
they unearthed your roots and with fame you
were taken.
Their greedy
eyes wouldn’t let you grow free,
cut from
those thorns and trapped in a vase,
you were put
on display for all to see.
They praised
your petals while you covered your face.
~
But as the
days passed their attention grew scattered.
The thought
of your thorns returning made your heart shatter.
You
convinced yourself that it was just a phase,
then they
threw you out at the first sign of age.
~
Without
proper care, leaves became fragile
and grey,
your petals
turned to rust as they withered away.
You were
left in the dirt with nowhere to go,
waiting for death, heartbroken and alone.
~
Just barely alive, you felt someone’s stare,
but at this point in time was there a reason to care?
~
Lifted into his arms, you were held with grace.
You opened your eyes to a
familiar face.
He whispered softly,
wrapping you in his clothes,
“How could I be so
careless to you, my rose?”
In your
fading conscious you saw the man who saved you before.
You died in
his arms learning it was you he was
searching for.
~
He buried
his rose, the love he couldn’t save
and left not
a bouquet, but a seed at her grave.
As the golden
years passed, what the man did not foresee,
a great oak
grew in her place, honoring her crimson
beauty.
~
Although the
man tried to live life to his best,
the man grew
old never looking for another rose.
He passed in time with only one simple request;
he was
buried in front of the oak that it may never be cut down.
~
Something
then emerged at the base of the tree,
a bulb white
as snow; a pure rose to be.
~
White rose, white rose,
may you never pose.
Points: 1983
Reviews: 176
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