Tears Of The Rose

A rose
Is a prickly thing
Armed with barbed thorns
Stinging like thousands of merciless
Bees that hover protectively
Over their prize.

Roses are arrogant too
Blooming lushly a royal red
Soft petals begging to be touched
Beauty lures the naive into a trap
And the gullible pull away
With a bleeding finger
Red like the rose

Yet this cunning flower weeps
Petals, falling like leaves
Red tears sweeping the ground
It curls into itself
Curved claws clutching
A shell of its former beauty

It weeps for love
For those who see it do not love
But are infatuated
Poisoned scent of honey
Only lure victims into a trap
Of their own making

The poor rose
It never meant to make thee
And all the other broken hearted
Lovers so downcast

Yet now it continues to weep
Falling petals
Tears of the Rose
Scattering carelessly
On the ground

The red withers into black
No more shall beauty deceive
But now all shall see it true
Beauty in its purest form: decay