The thorns of a rose
Are one's guilty pleasure
So far, yet so close
The soul feels of leisure
The thorns of a rose
Are the result of greed
So far, yet so close
It completes the impassive need
The thorns of a rose
Are the colour of poison
So far, yet so close
the temptation's horizon
The thorns of a rose
Are like the flights of stairs
So far, yet so close
Seem the blood red petals
Because the thorns of a rose
Are one's guilty pleasure
So far, yet so close
The soul feels of leisure.
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Unworthy Silences
PoetryThere are some feelings which can't be expressed. Some feelings, that can't be addressed. The unknown melancholy, the untimely ecstasy. The heartbreak of a song, Or a love that went wrong. These feelings have no rooting source, no refined cause. But...
