You used to be my rose
My symbol of hope when the world was cruel
Soft, sweet and full of beauty
making me smile as I gazed upon your face
I placed you in a crystal vase
and held you on a pedastal
To be the one I look to
on my dark and lonely nights
I never dared to touch your essence
but then one day I changed
desperate for your meaning
I brought you down to my level
I reached my hand out
to run my fingers along your silky stem
hoping that by doing so
I could absorb you into my skin
Then the vase shattered
and the pedastal went up in flames
for when your thorn pierced my soul
The truth finally filled my eyes
You used to be my rose
but now I see your withered leaves
and as you fell onto my blackened ground
I went down to my knees and cried.
Deana Rode
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/2004-rose/
