A thorn on a rose
Is what I am truly
The sharp negative
Within a beauty
Aren't we all striving to blossom
Is this field of war
Yearning to bud
With joy so far
Without the glow of the sun
We grow in the shadows
We must go into the light
To fathom the real rose
But only our petals
Of darkness have bloomed
The stems we rise from
Have left us all doomed
We will swallow the water
You pour upon us
We have no choice
No ability to discuss
Too little we will shrivel
We will drown with too much
Pick us while we breathe
Be gentle with your touch
We all yearn to be placed
In a vase of adore
But to flourish with pigment
Is a struggle much more
We spare tears in the mornings
You awe at our dew
Not grasping the concept
Of all that is true
We sprout from the grass
From this soil we live
All that we have
Are our petals to give
The question is present
Will you pick me and save
My soul from this garden
That is more alike to a grave?
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