| Home / Love Poems / Lost Love / Rose |
Rose |
|
Resource for Rose. The Rose listings are updating on daily basis, get the latest Rose along with Love Poems, Love Quotes, Love Ideas, Love Calculator, Love Tests, Romantic Love Ideas, Love Dating Tips and Discuss your love issues and Find your Love. |
|
|
|
|
Viewed : 27 Refer page to your Friend Rating :  
A beautiful rose, the absolute symbol of love, flourishes with deep scarlet colour in the spring sunlight.
The rose has been neglected for a while, but without warning, it is plucked from its tree.
Already, the rose begins to wilt and die, cut from the branch of source and power.
Human-like, the rose can feel, as confusion and despair reign.
The rose is taken away and placed in a crafted, wooden chest, marked with the initial of past lovers.
The chest is sealed and locked.
The grace of light and nurture is extinguished, and the brilliance of the rose's ruby red turns dull.
The rose is stripped at the stem, its leaves and buds in tatters.
The prospect of hope and new life is devoured.
If naturally possible, the rose could show such diverse colours.
Red and yellow would soon grow faint.
Green would parade its ugly colour, but it would eventually transform into a deathly black.
Finally, after a procession of shades, the rose would become white, but, at its very core, hidden from all eyes, it would display the most beautiful, blood red.
The red is testament to the beauty and joy the rose could bring to the seemingly plain garden, life's boundaries.
The rose's thorns, unbearably guilty for blood past drawn, become blunt and withdraw over time, like a vowel to never inflict pain again.
The chest is caste away, never to be intentionally seen again.
The tender takes the chest's golden key and proceeds to hang it, by its silver string, on the branch of another young and promising tree, summer's frangipani.
The frangipani tree, above all else, now bears the only key to unlock the dying rose, letting its true aura unto the world.
But, for now, in the dark vessel of the chest, that rose lies.
The flower slowly wilts at its edges; its red centre maintains unprecedented potential beauty, its petals an empty, plain white.
Though gone, the scent of the rose lingers, while the key chimes against the frangipani tree in the whispering wind.
... And the rose waits, maybe without purpose, point or hope, but it waits nonetheless, wishing that one day it could be free again to bear the deepest, vibrant, scarlet it could ever possibly reveal.
By DB
|
|
Submit YOUR Here!! ( Photos, Quotes, Poems, Ideas )
|
|
|
If you want to share your love material with others, please login below to submit or send us by contacting at Contact Us
|
|
Refer to Your Friend :
|
|
Find your love here for Romance, Dating, Flurt or Wedding.
|
|
