The Rose
What in strange moments can bring this rose, weeping
Softening the thorns, its beauty diminished by each flow
Sun wilted upon dewy breath it pleads before God
Seeking refuge within your hands
To have such lips upon its essence
Shall stop the death of the endless weeping
Surreal the time that mounts between each caress
Where the rose lingers from lack of keeping
Always silent, always weeping
Softening the thorns, its beauty diminished by each flow
Sun wilted upon dewy breath it pleads before God
Seeking refuge within your hands
To have such lips upon its essence
Shall stop the death of the endless weeping
Surreal the time that mounts between each caress
Where the rose lingers from lack of keeping
Always silent, always weeping
posted by Serpthia | 3:02 AM
9 Comments:
lovely
Thank you.
Warmly,
Serp.
Yes, I like it too.
Here via Blogexplosion btw.
so deep. so real. so mystic. poetry for ages my friend.
You're a fantastic writer.
Very pretty. Lovely colorful imagery.
amazing
Very good stuff! I'd love to have you contribute to my blog sometime. I'm working on creating a place for all writers to come together and collaborate. Come join me if you're ever interested!
http://wanderlustway.blogspot.com/
Very beautiful poem,just like a fresh rose.Excellent
(Tanwir Phool)
E-mail
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tanwirphool@gmail.com
www.allaboutreligions.blog
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