My Diary and Dark Poems

Thorn of a rose

There red like a balloon
They smell pretty as a lily
They shine in the rain like the stars
They have thorns that poke that hurt
They are often on bushes
Thorns of a rose hurt
But I don't pluck the rose I hold onto it no matter what or how many thorns or how many times the tears fall from my eyes to me the rose isn't red the rose is golden I'll always cherish it