A Red Rose

It’s the color of blood, love and life
A red rose they say, doesn’t have to strife for its life
Doesn’t need any words to occupy
Or set alone, any feelings that preoccupy its natural beauty and demise

Give it to a stranger that sets this flower right near
He’ll sit and wonder why its here
She picks it up, remembers a memory
She smells it once, and falls back with harmony
But then so eager to throw it all away, like its a dead flower on a dark
gloomy day

So eager to fall back like the rose that fell apart
Started a riot that ended with the start
Lets just be friends
that’s all well be, lets just be friends, lets look at what I see
But what about me
How do I see the red rose to be
Well lets see

I see me in a blush of color
The day past much more duller
You never cared
But its ok, at least you have a red rose to throw away at the end of your
day
But I think that’s the point
The point of a rose
To leave it in a place so ironic of its nature
So indifferent of its behavior,
But it will still rise to see the day of light
Because a rose by any other name would smell just right.
 
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