More Than A Rose

More Than A Rose

I walked through the field
laced with silver and gold.
I then spot a rose
burning and bold.
It was a dangerous red
a fiery hue.
But I was drawn by the heat
no better I knew.
I reached for the stem
green consistent with thorns
I pulled it from the dirt
a new pain was born.
Vain, self- righteous thorns
punctured my hand.
On the apathetic rose
dark, angry blood ran.
Weary of agony
and forlorn with turmoil
I dropped the callous ideal
on blood dampened soil.
I walk on
pondering life's seductive misery.
I roam on
when I spot pure genuine beauty.
A radiant red rose
laminate monists a sea of weeds.
More than I hoped for
but maybe what I need.
I gently plucked it
from the ground.
It made beautiful music
without emitting a sound.
I held the long, vibrant stem
assimilated with me.
Incomparable
I grip it passionately.
To take my rose
would be nothing short of iniquity.
It would cause grief
and eclipse all that I see.
As long as this theomorphic gift
is where I roam
I'll be content
in a utopia of my own.


By nutbuster