spilleronsheet

Thorns

It’s a pleasure

if someone can speak

speak their woes

their hurt

their scars

their ruins

 

unfortunately,

not all can speak 

keep their heart out

because to world 

it maybe rose

roses stitched outside

 

behold,

lies  thorns

bleeding every inch of soul

 

to a garden full of rose

Bundle of thorns wrap

scarring

scratching

wounding the hands

limping  wings at every nook

cutting off the flight

before it leaps

 

alas,

among the roses

the rose weeps

and  beauty surrounds

calls it a dew of red

with blood all around….