The Rose

Hatred is a bitter rose
And blooms where bitterness will please
The warmest hearts, its charm has froze
And none escape its tortured freeze

A boy betrayed by mothers love
A girl ensnared by father's pains
A lover's lust that kills a dove
A friend no traitor yet regains

A wise man wrote that bitterness
Can rot the bone like mold
And no-one can betray the thought
Nor wise, nor young, nor old

For men have held that bitter rose
Whose thorns within them lay
Whose wounds they say they cannot feel
From scars of yesterday

And though the thorns that pierce so deep
Within the hand don't bleed
Far gone the tears of red we weap
When men let flowers lead

And some men cry when they let go
And in their writhing pain
They pray to God that they may know
That Love is not in vain

They hurt a time and half a time
And ages roll on by
And yet they're free to find their rhyme
And bask in Love devine