The Rose

This Rose This rose makes a lasting impression, Born out of desolate earth, Full of thorns to scar and hurt, Withering away each and every day, Like relationships of these pawns today. Opening up to lust renowned, A rose is a rose, forever bound. Wrapped along life's long thread, Plotting life from start to dead. This rose makes a lasting impression, Torn away like an obsession. For first loves and parades take heed, For weddings and funerals to feed. All the roses come to seed, Mankind stripping them from their leaves. Vengeance from the master rose divine, Watered with the darkest wine. Thorns sharper and longer be, Born from the rest’s insanity. This rose makes a lasting impression, In the minds of human discretion. Casting a spell on the human race, Seeking vengeance for losing face.