The Dark Red Rose

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How can beauty be such a talent?

A rose is, nevertheless, a rose.
A rose, whose stem is thorn-less.
A rose, whose petals are manufactured.
A rose, whose leaves are perfectly in place.
A prized possession of beauty,
A rose forever on the coffee table,
An eye pleaser.

A rose is, nevertheless, a rose.
A rose, whose stem is full of thorns.
beautiful and scared
like a puffer fish.
Yet, harmless and innocent
Like a young lamb.
A rose, whose petals are seemingly rudimentary
Smooth, wet,
From the tears of the sky, she’s
Not protected.
Real raw rose
In a bed
Of real raw roses.
A rose, whose leaves are stand so plainly
A rose in a bed of roses overlooked.
A rose bed of roses overlooked,
For the artificial rose.
 A rose forever in the back yard.
An outwardly plain rose

The beautiful rose leaves nothing but her beautiful image

The plain rose leaves her loving symbolism.
Her spirit of friendship.
Her devotion, waiting for you to heal.
Her admiration
And how she admires you.
Her appreciation for you.
Her essence of spirit.
Her wisdom.
Her faith.
Her way of timelessness.
Her purity.
Her innocence.
Her humility.
Her gentle soul.
Her modesty.
The Dark Red Rose,
unconscious of the beauty she holds inside. 

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