The Rose

This immortal rose that lovers seek will be glimpsed by all in youthful peak for her presence will be on every corner. And those who confuse that heady perfume with a lust for love, will only find winter in an unknown heart for beauty was always a fragile thing. We who have seen this gift from above will always get burned by its light. The poet and the painter have perfumed our existence with loves testimony to this. The pain and tears fall on empty shield for love will break your heart but when we reach out to hold the rose picked from these fields of hope, a moment in life unfurls, love will kiss your soul and the world belongs to you. Fleeting are the petals of time the rose is a symbol to love. For others it is the pain of life, to find and lose this immortal gift leaves a desert where life cannot breathe. The laughter replaced by silence the smile that is kept in darkness, the kiss exiled to the memory. Love is lost in the deepest pit of your despair, the thorns will bleed your soul red but she can never die. Love will always leave a spark that will lead you to redemption and only death can take this from you. The rose was never yours to pick but its creation yours to admire for your being was made for this. And as our mortal bodies die the spirit will seek the rose once more for in death its petals fall too blessing the ground of your resting place. The rose was always yours and its beauty a source of life the chains of doubt will always break in its presence. The rose is pure as is your faith in mankind. It can show you a deeper meaning for you are the petals of life she is the perfume of your existence and it is you that made her life complete.