In A Bed Of Thorns

In a bed of thorns
There lies the waiting
The waiting beautiful flower
That wishes to grow
But if it were to rise
Amongst this bed of thorns
It would die
And without hesitation
For it knows the risk
And because of this it hides
It hides in this hidden wasteland
Always too afraid
The sun and the moon
They call for the rose
They tempt the rose
To gently glide into the air
And still the rose hides
The smell of the morning
Intoxicates the rose
Like the drugs so carelessly used
By the youth
The insects
Try to persuade the rose
But even one so naive
The rose knows
They beckon him to come
For their own reasons
The rainstorms hum songs
Of outside world
While the rainstorms whisper
Tiny words
Still the rose continues to hide
Consumed by fear
The shadows that dance
Gliding through
The bed of thorns
As if it were nothing at all
And as if they were not there at all
The shadows taunt the rose
Until it wishes death
To rid itself of the shadows
The rose pressed forward
Only to feel the thorns
Grab him along the way
Still he pressed forward
Until he felt the kiss
Of the sun
And the tender touches
Of the morning dew
The rose merely thought
‘How beautiful’
Before the rose fell
Wilting
In a bed of thorns


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