The Rose Bush


The rose bush stands as you look upon it in love.
It's a sight to see but holds many secrets within its roots.
It can come in pink and yellow and red,
Any color can be manipulated,
But you can never tell till you try.
The pedals, soft and sweet as it remains closed,
Awaiting their time to burst with beauty
And blossom into a beautiful flower you cannot help but adore.
You love the thing and love it gives in return.
It's graceful and nice, little but meaningful.
You make it your own and go to pick it from the bush.
As you're distracted by the beauty,
The thorns begin to rear their pointy heads.
They'll cut you and stab you and hurt you and harm you,
Make you bleed from your heart to your hands,
Give you scars, pain, grief, disappointment,
How could a thing so light, so little and sweet and perfect
Cause so much damage?
You may cry and ache but you're already in love.
The love that you hold for the beautiful parts are strong enough
To let you forget the scars, ignore the pain, make everything better.
The flower you may love can hurt you,
But not enough to cancel out the love.

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