A single red rose, hidden under a mask of perfection,
The sweet smell, the fregrance of enchantment, the power to make , the fairest of angels stand in awe.
Looking at its outer appearence one can only
see what lies on the surface.
Within the perfection lies something very different,
the worries, the constant battle within, never
knowing for sure if perfection is truely enough,
The thorns lie in wait to stab at any who
dare to get close, the root buried deep where
no one ever goes.
There lies the real rose,
the one no one ever looks for.
Content with its beauty and lovely smell,
the passion and life are often overlooked,
But when you look at what lies deep down
buried under the past, under the heartache and
the pain, you see the soul of a flower shich
so depreately wishes to be known.
But for now it remains content to shine in the
admoration of others, but as the sun sets and it
stands all alone its heart breaks because no one really knows what i means to be a rose.
