The Rose

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She carries a black rose
It's tied to her heart
The same way it is to her hand
She cries a tear as it pricks her finger
But rather than throwing it aside
She hugs it closer and watches the red fall
What is this relationship between beauty and pain?
What is this infatuation with feeling its torture?
Can roses feel? Can blood tell a story?
Is life like a rose..
Full of beauty
But hiding pain?
What is the true meaning of life?
To enjoy the good..
and despise the bad?
No
The true meaning is to embrace both
To see how beauty can be in the pain
To see the pain that is always in the beauty
With one there can never be the other
To try and seperate one from the other is to lose yourself
So learn from the rose..
Embrace the beauty..
But understand the pain





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