The Thorn

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  • Life

    The Thorn

    Somewhat of a rose is who we are.
    We grow with prickly thorn.
    A beautiful rose with a scar,
    Bear a blood of a newly born.

    Why grieve for such a rose?
    Is beauty only skin deep?
    The thorn you see it also grows,
    But the scent is ours to keep.

    What rose are we without thorn?
    Are we painless to touch?
    When lifeless we lay dead & mourn,
    But why does it hurt so much?

    We are but all a thorn.
    So prickly to the eye!
    A rose we were once born.
    A rose until we die.

    Carolyn Hines

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    The true philosopher and the true poet are one, and a beauty, which is truth, and a truth, which is beauty, is the aim of both.

    Ralph Waldo Emerson, American Poet (1803-1882)

    Chekwa1’s Poems (24)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    My Memories… 0
    Coldness 0
    ALONE 0
    Morning Dew 0
    Scent of Sense 0
    Immortal Heart 0
    You're 1
    I Seldom 1
    Her Smile 2
    I Say to Thee 0
    Maybe 1
    Hands in praise 1
    The Greatest Gift 0
    Family 0
    Imagine… 0
    Don't 0
    Sometimes 0
    My Life 0
    Uncertainty 0
    Afraid 0
    The Thorn 0
    I Asked 0
    Not Another 0
    Dreams' Destiny 0