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Rose Metaphor Poems | Metaphor Poems About Rose

These Rose Metaphor poems are examples of Metaphor poems about Rose. These are the best examples of Rose Metaphor poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse |

Oh sweet rose

Beautiful rose
covered in 
your petal finery
sweet silken
satin soft feelings
singing in praise
touching deeply inside

Gentle heart 
of sweetness
tenderness flows
from your sweet
scenting aroma
floats inside 
the scent

Heavenly emotions
enchanting beauty
looking amazing
red in passion
hot soft whispering 
pink blushing
orange warm
as the sun beams glow

Dressed in white
you crown angels
petals softly 
Whispers flow
on scented air
words inside 
I love you

Kissing and hugging
my love deeply darling
surrendering to you
without doubt
purest rose

I trust 
from the petals
into my heart
a crowning jewel
you are queen
amongst flowers 
amazingly baby


Details | Rhyme |

A Rose with no Thorn

A Rose with No Thorn

In the Garden, the bouquet of life
There bloomed a rose whose beauty caught my eye
Incomparable is this rose’s design
Unlike the others, she is not the prickling kind

I know they say that every rose has its thorn
But here blooms the exception, of the spirit she is born
One of a kind, the rarest in form
For she is a rose with no thorn

Oh what a fragrance, so lovely and fair
A scent of sincerity sweeps through the air
A pristine beauty from the realms up above
For she is the flower primeval of love

And as I bask in her blossoms of compassion
I find I am fashioned by love that’s everlasting
And in my heart she’ll always be adorned
For she is a rose with no thorn

Though weeds, thorns and thistles have tried to choke her
The rain has wet her; the sun has even scorched her
But she’ll not wither, neither will she wilt
For she is rooted in the love that God has tilled

Amidst great turmoil, never to be foiled
Arrayed in glory that could never ever toil
One of a kind, yes the rarest in form
For she is a rose with no thorn



Copyright2008 by Kenneth J Thompson


Details | Rhyme |

Red Roses

Their petals are falling as their colors change
It wasn’t this way before but is it strange?
These roses are dying in delicate sweet sorrow
Will their love shed too? Or will it see tomorrow?
Petals and love falling slow like soft snowflakes
A little change in season is all it takes,
But will these roses bloom again in a new morn?
Will their love come back to greatly adorn?

Will their beauty be gone forever once it fades away?
Or will it come back to make everything okay?
For what will the roses be worth if their beauty dies forever?
Will the image and value from them permanently sever?
Will the light in their eyes suddenly become dark?
As their splendor and significance steadily grow stark? 
Or will they rise like light at the beginning of dawn?
And be reborn more beautiful than a swan?



Details | Tanka |

'Being bipolar is like a rose'

Being bipolar
is like a rose born missing
some of its petals,--
its color is more vibrant
than all the other roses'!

It may never be
part of a "perfect" bouquet,--
but its rich pigment
can be a precious paint for
Da Vinci's "Mona Lisa."

Alas, it may not
attract the most "honeybees"
in the wilds of life,--
but its petals can be crushed
to make the finest perfumes.

Being bipolar
is like a rose born missing
some of its petals,--
its bouquet is more fragrant
than all the other roses'!


Details | Rhyme |

The rose

A caterpillar ran along
my bedroom floor and rested there
my kitty cat mewed it a song 
and up it sent a yearning stare

I picked it up, the crawling thing 
all green and wobbly and naive
"my thorns beware because they sting"
I said and paused fearing he'd leave.

The kitty looked up from below
and shook my stem to make him fall
but he held fast and she lay low
then shivered as she heard me call:

"Darling," I said, "don't be so grim,
my rosy perfume is for you
as much as for your brother, dream,
                                              for cats and worms I'll be a rose
prickly and motherly and true."



Details | Rhyme |

Every Rose Has Its Thorn

Every rose has its thorn,
Every person that's born
Is both thorny and sweet as perfume.
So are some when they grow,
As you likely may know,
Naught but thorns, or forever in bloom.

For the bush clad in thorns
The kind gardener mourns,
Yet he cares for them just like the rest;
But the roses that grow
He replants in a row
So the people that walk by are blessed.

If each deed that you do
In a rose garden grew,
Would your branches be roses or thorns?
Would you be on display
Or be hidden away
In the shade of the blackberry thorns?

Would you be but a shrub
That the passersby snub,
Or a rosebush admired by all?
Growing thorn after thorn
Will but heighten the scorn,
But a rosebud is lovely, tho' small.


Details | Quatrain |

The rose that grew from concrete

Many a mind hurries past
the gripping splendour
in search of beauty, not to last,
while continuing in rejection of grandeur.

I look as the moments pass
at the wounded walkway.
The sand flows through the hourglass
and time conforms to seconds and seconds to day.

There, in the heart of pain,
at the crack of dawn
grows through the mundane,
purity, life’s mystery in an image drawn

Red bursts open in colours array
but expectation it defied
as time had not intended bloom ‘till the following day
and still nature’s scarlet tears are cried.

Dusk was meant to encompass
the brooding gem in the snows
but the bud unfolded in its stubbornness
and yet not its pedals froze.

I suppose the dark of night
and the bitterness of day
could not smite 
what would have its own way.

The bud grew beautifully in strength
and blossomed in wisdom,
knowledgeable in great length,
yet its leaves forbade a future grim.

Somehow it lacked endurance
and what blind humanity refused to meet
became the trampling of our innocence:
the rose that grew from concrete.


Details | I do not know? |

My Wishes are Simple





My Wishes are Simple


My wishes are simple,
my desires few,

to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.



My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,

to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.



My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,

my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,

healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.





Details | Free verse |

The moon rose

They say that I’m a myth, a creature set on vengeance, and my battle cries are carried by the wolves… 
I am none of these. I am the blade that scrapes away the scorch of day.

My hair, black as night, its length every inch the strength that ravishes my tall body and thick as fear. 
My skin, white from the blood of the moon that consecrated me to destiny and carrying aspiration’s gems.
My eyes, ocean’s azure from the depths of pain that nature has wrought and bore, and clear as truth.
My armor, charred charcoal by the flames of the sun to purify a silver heart and impenetrable as diamond.

Given a bow and arrow and a path to follow, I set out at dark, covering the earth, 
protecting the innocent, preserving morality in human hearts, opposing injustice.

Those who refuse to yield their power over the weak shall know fear and trembling, their world shall be tormented by storms. 
Those who gaze into my eyes, dream of glory, yet it will elude them, as will contentment. 
Those who curse my cause shall live in illusion, never discerning reality from visions.
Those who listen to this siren of dusk, shall be mesmerized… hypnotized by it.

The moon chooses whom to save, and my touch heals them. 
Everywhere I go, I set not my feet on concrete, but on deserts, valleys and oceans.
Nature follows in my every step, rises at my command, defends my hindsight and covers my slumbering.

I am Aygül, daughter of night, mother of thunder, enchantress of hearts, empress of justice and rose of the moon.


Details | Epyllion |

EMPOWERING INNOCENCE

written 21st June 2013


A 'single'.. rose grows with purity, into a field, en-fenced
 from that 'moment' it buds, watch...as its passion, and grace.. intertwine
It begins to bloom, with such confidence
 showing off.. its elegance, with 'complete' dominance
For you are left... 'totally' unaware of an, 'entire' field of daisies, swaying.... such poetry
 such passion, and grace.. still exists in the heart, of humanity
The worlds future... 'completely' relies on 'peace' to become heard
 but how far has...man let it go, our hearts hold hope, for the same entity
Peace, love and harmony
 for those "who" choose to believe
Jesus freed, the curse we received by 'Adam' and 'Eve'
 they have found, love and peace
Taking it upon themselves, they help... the next man, to be 'free'
 within God's own time, we 'will' see, heaven on earth
For it is 'still' a gift... we all receive, at the hour of our birth
 


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