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The Rose
October 27, 2022
Each day my pedals fly away
One by one they fly with the wind
No control, no decision
The blades of air tare my leaves and rips my roots from the ground
but I stand still
So I put up thorns, big, sharp, scary thorns
a weapon to the air and a protector of my roots
The wind will always find a way, but my stem has yet to be touched by a hand
a soft, warm, comforting hand that will bring me inside
because there is only a couple people that wont snap me in half completely.
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This is my first piece, and a rearranged version of the first poem I ever wrote. I am still learning of poetry but I have music in my heart and this may be the place where I can let it out. This poem is about trust issues if you struggle to find the theme. I would appreciate advice for my future work aswell.