The Blood Red Rose

Once there lived the rarest, wildest rose in a field of bramble and weed.
Alone it grew, no other near by for which to give it support upon to feed.
It was not a weak flower it planted roots firm and deep within the unfertile ground
to survive it had to adapt to what the beings had given it abound.

The rose grew strong in the light of day
only in the bitterness of night did it's bravery cease to fade away.
It learn to overcome the weeds
to plant new more powerful seeds.

The rose could not exist in the world to which she was born, nor adapt, so she fought
bitterness, pain and injury were oft the price the battle brought.
Upon pure happenstance an angel came into the garden of the rose one day
by pure chance she began to see another way.

Dare she open herself so totally to the warmth of light?
What then would keep her safe each frightfully, evil and vile night?
Dare she let down her guard for all to see?
whom it is that she truly needed and wanted to be?

A rose has many special gifts from the beings of creation indeed
for she was nay intended to forever be a weed.
Her thorns are sharp and pierce true
even when they don't really want to.

Caring
Sharing
These do not come easy for the darkest rose of the garden of doom you know
feelings are something she does not freely show.

Something she has began to understand
sometimes you can run, but not hide from every man.
Once the rose has opened her heart
she's so afraid it'll be ripped apart.

They call her the blood red rose because she bleeds it's true
but rather than show anyone, she'll run from you.
Pull down my sleeves, put my razor blades away
soon it will be the dawn of day.

The rose can fade into the world that knows not of pain
where they would think hers was insane.
It has become easy to leave the garden and build walls
so that the rose survives to stand once proud and tall.

To tare away a wall, let someone in,
that person who you want so to hold as friend?
is not as easy as all seem to think
then they do not know the levels of which the blood red roses pain can sink.

To pluck a rose is to kill her be careful what you do
already she has long opened her heart to you.
The pain you can inflict you do not yet know
Gently trudge upon the grounds where it is you go.
The blood red rose bleeds for you to see
not many get this close to me.