Thorn

I think this is the last time
That i stop to smell the roses
Left with all but the thorns
And a feeling sickly, sweet

I walk through the garden eyes ablaze
I walk towards the flower, wilted, Melancholly
Beneath the wilted petals i see the colour bright
It shines brighter, i fall back.

This flower is not wilting, it is sheding its petals, Like a tree in autumn it loses its leaves and then soon, they turn into the most beautiful petals.

I gaze apon its colours, the light passes through me.
I shiver, I feel unworthy to gaze apon such beauty.

As i look apon the flower i see no thorns,
It smells refreshing, It smells like spring

The flower i look apon is not a rose,
It is you, it reflects the joy you gave me.

Tempz.