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The Yin-Yang Rose

<The Yin-Yang Rose>

Why must I be scorned
in clenching grip of love?
humanity's envy and lust
quells not
the atrocity of ill feelings.
Those who search
in feeble desperation
for a love ever after,
often quest to no avail,
forever ignorant
to evanescent emotions
in amaranthine bonds.
And although not palpable
grasps love's unseen hand,
the heart remains chained,
unable to run free.
Animosity gnaws
on love's decayed pink wrist.
writhing with rage,
shrieking with abhorrence
to be set free.
For a rose lacking petals,
is merely a club bearing thorns,
making weary the battered lover.
All the while
romance clings
to the tarnished sleeve of
love's white tunic--
praying for purity,
hoping for holiness--
struggling earnestly
for harshest of seasons
to transcend into spring,
and morph bloody crowns
of prickly anguish,
forming docile bouquets
to garner unconditional happiness.
The Yin-Yang of love
falters not
in its unbalanced cycle.
Captivated by feelings
non-existent, both
mind and soul tug,
straining intangible ropes
between logic and instinct.
Why must I be scorned
in clenching grip of love?
One cannot experience
the fragrance of the rose,
without first feeling the sting
of the thorn.

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