The thorn of a rose pierces the sun and draws the blood of distant dusk
Air laden with its fragrant musk
And its pinched petals, flourish crimson red with a new freshness
As rings of fire unwind towards the new day
In a windowsill a young maiden sits, watching the moon sink slowly
She sees the rose and watches it blossom as the sun rises
And she smiles
For it was just like her, only yesterday she was but a little girl
And one small thing differential had made her a woman
Just like the rose she was a bud
But now she had blossomed with all of her petals and thorns
YOU ARE READING
100 Peices of Me
PoetryThis is a collection of poems that I've been writing since I was ten years old. They encompass many things that I go through in life, and many of my thoughts. I hope you enjoy it. Edit: It gets better as it goes, the first section of the book is fro...
