Broken Rose

Crimson blood rose,
Yet the petals are dead.
The rose is not black,
It's bright crimson red.

The thorns are so sharp,
Stem so many shades of brown,
And underneath the petals,
This rose wears a frown.

The appearance of this rose,
May look so unique,
But inside it's empty,
Broken and discrete.

You may get fooled by the petals,
Or the bright crimson red.
But please don't believe it,
For this rose is dead.

A figment of imagination,
It wears a disguise,
Covered with thorns,
It sees your eyes.

It wears a disguise of beauty,
But then look at the stem,
Not the beautiful shades of brown,
But what coats on top of them.

It's huge ugly thorns,
That it picked along the way,
The rose looks so beautiful,
But thorns haunt it to this day.

Every rose does have it's thorn,
But this one has too much,
Beautiful to the eyes,
Always sore to the touch.

Don't be fooled by the rose,
Do not act lost or forlorn,
For this beautiful flower,
Has one to many thorns.

Broken Rose..