Monday, July 17, 2006

The beauty of the rose...

For most of us, the beauty of the rose lies in it's perfection.
In it's submission.

No thorns to mar it's beauty with droplets of our blood. A dewy, blood red, blooming rose.

A rose that lives.

Little do we realise that the beauty of the rose lies in it's thorn.
The thorn that adds character to the rose.
The thorn that guards the rose from all but the most persistent of lovers.
Testing each lover with it's many jabs, drawing forth blood and pain.
Chasing all but the most determined away.

The rose gives true beauty when it submits.
When it gives up it's thorn and blooms for the lover that sought it.
When it envelopes its lover with it's fragrant scent, a blushing blooming beauty.

There's beauty in a withered rose.

For a rose that submits embraces death, dying a little each day, petal by petal.
Loosing its scent, unable to envelope it's lover in fragrance.
Sacrificing its life and beauty to the hand that plucked it.


Farsh said...

There's beauty in a withered rose.

The lover, who shows a world of love and care, only wants to pluck it and let everyone stare. He will use it for display and his own pleasure. And this poor rose, abused of its innocence, will only begin to wither.
The rose could not refuse a request. It could not say no. It could not say never. It could only think of what was best. It struggles for understanding as its world begins to spin. It asks its self why? Have I wronged? Have I sinned? Self perception is a crazy thing when all you think of is pleasing the people around you. You forget about your needs and ultimately your feeling too.
So now as it tries to fight for it’s life, it begins to realize that it has made the ultimate sacrifice. It can leave this life in peace now knowing it gave up it’s life to make some one happy. It’s only last wish is that the lover will remember it with all of it’s purity.

widad said...

I've always felt that a withered rose holds many memories...

As do treasured petals pressed between books...

Farsh said...

I always wonder with what dreams do people store away flowers in books.. steal their beauty from the world and make them their own treasure..What satisfaction are they hoping for?

Yes, Flowers & Petals have memories but can we really hear them singing their delightful tales..

widad said...

Perhaps this may answer some of your queries...

The heart doth recognise thee,
Alone, alone! The heart doth smell thee sweet,
Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most
Though seeing now those changes that disguise thee.

Yes, and the heart doth owe thee
More love, dead rose! than to such roses bold
As Julia wears at dances, smiling cold!---
Lie still upon this heart---which breaks below thee!