deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Thorn
A rose between a page
still a rose now dry and aged
yet a rose knows no other name
no longer ever to be the same
standing proud, no fault, no blame
Thorns adorn her just the same
Thirsty for Blood, just A little Prick
the rose didn't choose or pick
now just a flower on a stick
cut by a knife, awaiting certain doom
she buds, she blossoms, man she blooms
sucking life from the bottom of a vase
gently falling apart, no shame, no grace
petals falling it seems like a race
no place to grow, ran out of space
no longer desirable in this place
wilting away, no buds to replace
only Rosewood now, yet still a Little Vamp
tossed aside like a Withering Tramp...
A rose pressed in the pages, of an antique book.. Yet still intact, derive words of this vamp, history of the withering tramp! Cutting of the blossom, of the bud often draw a little blood.. Making room for new ones to grow, now more blooms she shall bestow... <3
still a rose now dry and aged
yet a rose knows no other name
no longer ever to be the same
standing proud, no fault, no blame
Thorns adorn her just the same
Thirsty for Blood, just A little Prick
the rose didn't choose or pick
now just a flower on a stick
cut by a knife, awaiting certain doom
she buds, she blossoms, man she blooms
sucking life from the bottom of a vase
gently falling apart, no shame, no grace
petals falling it seems like a race
no place to grow, ran out of space
no longer desirable in this place
wilting away, no buds to replace
only Rosewood now, yet still a Little Vamp
tossed aside like a Withering Tramp...
A rose pressed in the pages, of an antique book.. Yet still intact, derive words of this vamp, history of the withering tramp! Cutting of the blossom, of the bud often draw a little blood.. Making room for new ones to grow, now more blooms she shall bestow... <3
Published 23rd Dec 2015
| Edited 2nd Mar 2016
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26th Dec 2015 6:57pm
So let it bloom and wither on the rose bush. It's sad to cut a brilliant beauty just to entomb it between pages ...
13th Feb 2016 3:37pm
A rose pressed in the pages, of an antique book.. Yet still intact, derive words of this vamp, history of the withering tramp! Cutting of the blossom, of the bud often draw a little blood.. Making room for new ones to grow, now more blooms she shall bestow... <3
28th Dec 2015 3:34am
