In A Bed Of Thorns

In a bed of thorns

There lies the waiting

The waiting beautiful flower

That wishes to grow

But if it were to rise

Amongst this bed of thorns

It would die

And without hesitation

For it knows the risk

And because of this it hides

It hides in this hidden wasteland

Always too afraid

The sun and the moon

They call for the rose

They tempt the rose

To gently glide into the air

And still the rose hides

The smell of the morning

Intoxicates the rose

Like the drugs so carelessly used

By the youth

The insects

Try to persuade the rose

But even one so naive

The rose knows

They beckon him to come

For their own reasons

The rainstorms hum songs

Of outside world

While the rainstorms whisper

Tiny words

Still the rose continues to hide

Consumed by fear

The shadows that dance

Gliding through

The bed of thorns

As if it were nothing at all

And as if they were not there at all

The shadows taunt the rose

Until it wishes death

To rid itself of the shadows

The rose pressed forward

Only to feel the thorns

Grab him along the way

Still he pressed forward

Until he felt the kiss

Of the sun

And the tender touches

Of the morning dew

The rose merely thought

‘How beautiful’

Before the rose fell

Wilting

In a bed of thorns