Thorn Poems - Poems about Thorn

Another oath I’ve sworn, Another spoken lie. Any way to home, Court me into a door open wide. Another totem born, Another standing so high. Another day, Another poem, Thoughts come in the form of rhyme. Rows of corn, Pleased to be born, Taught to stand in line. Thoughts worn and dry, Fields seem forlorn, Ought to stand...

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thorn bug looks like thorn her camouflage is perfect mimicking nature...

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I wish you stars, but not the darkness they need to shine. I wish you clouds, but not the tears they pour.   I wish you roses, but never their thorns. And I wish you love– but not me. ...

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“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust”, The minister intoned, dismissing us. Embraced and patted, pitying looks from all. Letting go of my rose, the last to fall. Thorns pricked my finger, a drop of blood dripped down… … in the hole where mother's body is buried in the ground. The grown ups seem to know exactly what to do. But I...

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You don't ever pierce Though your look is fierce Each rose is safe in your hold. Green snakes scroll around. Flies move with no sound In heat and cold, you stand bold. As rose buds feel dread Your sharp claws you spread Are you their unseen backbone? Each rose fades and falls When Time, from far, calls Do you mourn for them alone? ...

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In hushed greenhouses, a marvel grows, A pilgrimage for those who know: A rose unmarred by nature's thorns, Its beauty is pure, as morning dawns. I dreamed of its stem, a silken cord, Coiled gently around my hands, unexplored. My garden once bristled with spiky guards, Till obsession smoothed those prickly shards. From root to tip, I bred them bare, Strength redefined in petals...

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A rose bush leans against the garden wall, It blooms a riot of crimson whispers. Petals soft as lover's lips unfurl, While beneath, sharp sentinels stand guard. This beauty bears a double-edged sword, A paradox of gentle grace and hidden bite. Velvet petals beckon, "Come closer, friend," While thorns hiss, "Beware, keep your distance." In sunlight, it dances a waltz of shadows, Casting lace...

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If I was a rose would you pick me Despite my green thorns all sticky Would you just place me near your nose And breathe in my fragrance so bold Would you have time to watch me grow Would you mind if I had a soul That was attached to vine on a picket fence Would you take me or leave me...

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Although the rose is unadorned by dew, rain or sun… she shines still brighter when all her work is done. ~ quote by poet If often seems that I’m like the gentle rose, When my limbs are pruned, my spirit thrives and grows. Like the rose, my deep roots are the foundation, For when my roots doubt, there is...

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Sue played the tuba, the sax, drums and the horn. You can play them in the field, next to the corn. Her parents were not musical, which made her forlorn. The scarecrow loved music though, his name was Thorn. He fell in love with her, and her clarinet too. Their relationship was a secret, according to Sue. A tornado took Thorn...

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From the thistle and vine From the thicket of thorn Into the light of the morning Out from the briar patch, gone In a flicker of light Into the glimmer of dawn Slipping out at the daybreak With the rise of the sun In the ticking of time From the clock on the wall Ring the bells of a new day...

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who plays the part yet put her cold stiff dagger into my heart while every rose has a thorn...

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The thorn asked the scarlet petal, "Why is it gardeners admire your beauty and are intoxicated by your fragrance, yet they fear a prick from me?" The petal replied, "because you are a harsh reminder that behind everything beautiful there is pain."...

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too late to refuse to be subject to abuse of those long gone blues the failure to comprehend all that was needed back then each makes their own way emptiness unfilled by phrase darkening some days dreams shot at and downed expectations run to ground leaving without sound of story with no ending too long lost for beginning dreams won't make it so long past time to turn and...

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The intricacy of the thorn can be beautiful in itself by the right beholder. The requirement for distance and delicate handling mean beauty is not seen or appreciated by all but in the end that doesn't matter. Quote by poet (former goth) I grew stealthily more thorny As the dangers presented Guarding the rose inside my heart Til...

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