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A rose's thorn, does not steal from her beauty;
Merely bleeds from the observer the sever sensation,
The delicate petals, intricately folded;
Could not stand to endure.
For a single touch form the brutal reality;
Would spoil her complexion, bleach her.
But few men can stomach there own blood; to touch.
For the prick of true beauty is only for the gamble,
A fool would only travel these narrow, spiked paths.
You see to reach the heart you must penetrate the centre,
And only with the sun's gaze can she fully bloom.
One wrong move and the shadows will engulf her.
The rose will wither; her thorns become brittle,
Then like feather each petal will fall to the ground.
*-*
Broken spirits are like Broken Flowers
They do not mend well
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Author notes
This isn't exactly a dark gothic poem, more to the point it is about dark imagery. I love this poem.
I am trying to make a come back to poetry after nearly a year (or longer) of writers block.
Best of luck to all in the contest!
Be CRITICAL
Comments
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well dear i think that this is AWESOME it has many implications and sends a strong message it held me, read it over and over made me look at my own wrongs that i have had to do the EARL on and you are spot on here the ending was glorious youre so ova the w. block obviously congrats
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Well I know what it is like to have writer's block. I have had it for a while myself. But this is a nice poem. You did a good job! I like it but you are right iy really isn't dark. Yet it does kind of have a dark feel to it. Nice!
P.S. But few men can stomach there own blood; to touch.
Should say "But few men can stomach their own blood; to touch."
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