Rose in a vase of others

"But he that dares not grasp the thorn, should never crave the rose." - Anne Bronte

Its been a long time since I've written here, i cant explain it away,

a sense of losing it,

not being a part of anythin ..

anythin real..

Well, theres a lot i've been wanting to put down for a while,

but i also realised most of it would have to mean starting a new blog as this ones become somewhat personal to me... like one of those journals we keep for those really special moments,hidden away in your closet, you remember it only when you cant hold stuff inside you for very long...

So, oh well... hmmm.. yeah, whatever works huh, for that occasional doze of sanity...

The rose has been a favorite flower of poets since poetry began. Maybe it's because like a poem, a rose can say so much without saying much at all. The soft silky feel of a fresh rose petal evokes tenderness; the fragrant scent of a fresh spring rose brings refreshment; the vibrant colors of red, pink, peach, purple, orange, yellow, and white roses remind us of the dazzling beauty of creation; and getting pricked by a thorn causes pain. Roses are a reflection of life.

I wrote this while staring at the rose on my table, she was so beautiful just a week ago, pink and flushed and beautiful... but suddenly she's wilted and yet looks strangely so beautiful even in her death... and the flowers put in with her are thriving now, and must say, they are strikingly beautiful in their own right!

But that got me thinking, some women are so strong... no, not olympic weight lifting strong, but strong from the inside, you know? Of course every woman is special, but some I have gotten to know have held their head high and through many a tribulation... they are young, they are holding their own and in a world where not many stop to take off their coats and spread them out in a puddle in front of them... if you know what I mean.

The world is not always fair to them and they often do more than they should to keep those around them happy but they do it all with a smile, a smile that doesn't reveal a morsel of discomfort. But thats what makes them so special, their fortitude.

Somehow, nothing shows, only their smile and strength shines through every time. But what do you know, this maybe their very undoing, people take that resolve for granted, its as if they were custom made boxing bags, little do they realize, the pain they cause, the hurt they confer, for these special roses know where their true beauty lies... and its not in the praises and the adorations, that lies their encouragement, for that they know, yes, theres nothing wrong in knowing either, God made you beautiful...

But its the real beauty that they would like to be recognized, if for a moment.

Rose in a vase of others.

Resplendent beauty ablaze in red...

bathed in scent queens long for,

she looks to the sky for to befit her gaze ,

no others on earth yet tread...

the swinging and sashaying envy her,

disguised by exclamations,

kisses fly and adorations beguile,

praises non fail to confer...

little they realize,

the pain in her rise,

the thorns she must bear...

for the beauty that is her prize,

Alas, as they stare,

Her soul do they hold bare,

her fragile heart is drying,

she shrivels at last,

in death she bows ..

but never to her foes,

Indeed its worth

to live every moment trying...