The roots are attached to the stem, and the stem to the rose.
The rose has a smell that’s so alluring.
It’s petals are like velvet to the touch.
It’s beauty is unmatched upon the gaze.
The Roots are deep and strong.
They the meaning and the purpose.
The stem is easily broken.
It’s full of thorns that bite like teeth.
I hold tight onto the stem,
As the thorns dig deep into my flesh.
If I release my grasp of the stem,
Though the roots will always grow,
I will lose the rose forever.
The roots are the ground that’s under me.
The stem is the pain that prisons me.
and the rose is the source that beckons me.
Without the stem there is no rose.
Is the scent of the flower,
worth the scars on the hand.
Or does it simply numb the heart to the pain.
Maybe I should just let go of the stem,
let the roots regrow.
And set the flower free.
Direct my gaze to a Tiger Lily.
And stop smelling the roses.