A poetic journey through my mind


There is a rose that seldom grows
beneath the shining sun,
Its thorny stem and fluted hem
shine when day is done,
Her beauty glows, this long-stemmed rose,
beneath the pale gaslight,
But in the days, her magic frays,
it only works at night,
It only works where danger lurks,
and men their flaws conceal,
With careless word and lies absurd,
they obfuscate the real,
They cannot know she sees them, though,
lest all her beauty fade,
Cut at the root, her magic mute,
another wasted Jade.

One response

  1. amazing !

    July 10, 2012 at 10:21 am

Talk to me, people! ;)

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