Rose & Throne

The rose, thou art a fleeting thing, With velvet touch and whispered sting. Thy beauty woos the wandering eye, Yet pain lurks where petals lie. A bloom beneath a golden throne, Where every king must sit alone. A crown that binds the heart in chains, For power calls, but love refrains. I’ve seen the thorns beneath the bloom, The crimson threads of fate and doom, And still I reach for what I know— The rose that bleeds, the thorn that grows. I want to taste the flower’s pain, To sip its sorrow like the rain, For in its wound, I find my own, And in its bloom, I claim my throne. I wear the crown, but feel the ache— Of roses wilting in my wake. I am both prisoner and king, Of tender love and ruthless sting. And such is man, forever torn— By thrones of steel, by roses worn.