The Rose

Love hurts
Love cries

I am trying to pick the rose before it dies
Reaching out tenderly
Only to be pricked by it's thorns
If a rose dies
It's passing
No one shall morn

It's only emporary beauty
Soon it will wither and die
Deep below the winter snow
It will lie

It is not really dead
Soon it will recreate
Born again beauty
Pushing it's head above ground
Needing the sun for it's desires to sate
Gathering the misty morning dew upon it's petals
Thirsting for the early morning rain

Stepping on it
Destroying it
A slow death
But it will feel no pain

All the pent up frustrations and hatred that I feel
To the rose I will show

But I can't
I must leave it alone
I must let it grow
I must love it
It can never hurt me

It will exist forever
I will die
Eternity for me
Is something that is never meant to be

It's petals reach upward
Wanting to survive
Needing my caring loving touch

Alone by its self
It does not seem to be much
But the ground
The small patch of earth from which it grows is its stage

To be appreciated
It has to be looked at
It's beauty is developed by eternity

Allways to be free
Never to be put in a cage
It's roots reaching deep within the earth
Searching for something to grasp
Something to hold on to

It cannot exist alone
It cannot speak
But it begs
With it's beauty for the helping hand extended by me

Don't cut its limb
It's not to be displayed in a vase
Don't prick it's heart and leave it existing in a daze
Leave it in its home
It's so beautiful my rose
So let it grow
Leave it in peace
The wonderment of its earthly existence
The reasoning of why the rose is here
I know

CopyRight Rick "Irockblue" 12-09-1980

CopyRight 1980-
Rasky's VietNam Memorial
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