On A Rose

the rose

pale pink flesh of bloom enticingly seeps through
sheathed in emerald... a whispered promise of soon


hidden fragility protected by thorn
ready to pluck... by the claim of love lorn

but do barbs protect or merely entice
are we still taken by flowered lies


call to the number who in challenge revel ?
call to those drawn to twisted devil ?

whos to know that hidden in the heart
who can tell if they merely play a part


this trust or mistrust can it be dealt
can any really believe in what is felt

soft soothes the river of molten lies
trusting maiden sits and crys


but the bloom... still sheathed and protected by thorn
is it safer or sitting forlorn

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roses are red

well that much is true
and im guessing that vilolets
might also be blue

but red roses for love
when the bloom soon decays
are you saying its over
in a matter of days

with thorns sharp and slashing
to tear and to cut
to wound and to hurt you
it all says so much

you gave me the violets
there pinned to my flesh
and i hand you a rose
for it suits you the best

with the aphids infesting
the thorns and the wilt
with petals discarded
its you to the hilt