Fragile

A rose is a gift of beauty, a gift of joy to display.

Fragile

A rose is a gift of beauty,
  a gift of joy to display.
such beautiful roses,
  all roses of yesterday.

Who tends to the flowers,
  ones that do not bloom?
Unadorned hidden roses -
  like a fragile human tomb.

A perfect bud growing there -
  alive, yet unseen.
Hidden behind a weed,
  praying to be redeemed.

Unwatered by love -
  suppressed by fate -
strewn in untended ground -
  choked by hate.

A flower spreads hope;
  motivates our lives.
Except the one tossed about,
  it dies.

Dead is the bud; dead is the bloom;
  the flower, the rose - they died.
Shattered, broken, all alone,
  inside a tomb they cried.

Dead is the bud; dead is the bloom;
  the mind, the soul - they died.
No help came,
  no one tried.


brg
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