Thorny roses

The thorny rose, a paradox it seems,

A crown of beauty wrapped in barbed-wire dreams.

Petals unfurl, a tapestry of red,

A fragrant promise, on a dangerous bed.

The crimson hue, a siren's sweet delight,

Luring the senses with a tempting sight.

Velvet caress hides a warrior's might,

Thorns like daggers, poised for a fight.

To grasp the bloom, a challenge it presents,

A test of courage, for hearts that are content.

Will love's desire conquer the sting's sharp pain?

Or will reason turn, and let the rose remain?

For beauty's touch can come at a cost,

A single misstep, a lesson dearly lost.

The thorny rose, a metaphor for love,

A tender bud, guarded from above.

Passion's fire burns with a radiant glow,

Yet vulnerability lies in its afterglow.

The closer we hold, the deeper the wound,

Love's tender embrace on a battlefield found.

But thorns also serve as nature's defense,

Protecting the bloom from careless pretense.

A symbol of strength, a heart that won't bend,

A love that's fierce, until the very end.

Perhaps the thorns are not just a threat,

But guardians true, where love hasn't set.

A test for the worthy, a challenge to face,

For love that is shallow leaves no lasting trace.

So let the thorns be a reminder bold,

That love's truest form is a story untold.

It requires courage, a spirit that's strong,

To weather the storm, and where it belongs.

For the heart that conquers the prick of the thorn,

Will be rewarded with a love newly born.

The thorny rose, a beauty profound,

Love's precious treasure, on sacred ground.