The rose is a beautiful flower Which attracts your eye It draws you near Having you believe it is a precious gift

Closing your eyes, You inhale the scent from the rose And enjoy the sweet aroma of it

You admire it's beauty Nothing anyone ever says about it could change what it means to you

But as you examine it more closely, You notice its razor-sharp thorns "I'll be careful," you say to yourself"

Assuming that if you're careful, The jagged thorns won't prick But with a slight slip of the hand A thorn bores deep into your skin

The rose you once thought was beautiful Has now become your enemy You drop it to the ground.

But you soon begin to miss admiring it's wonder So you pick it up again, Deciding to be extremely careful this time.

And once again, it pricks you.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Sorry this poem isn't really written very good, but it's symbolizing a message I'm trying to send. I'm not sure if I made it clear though, but I'll make you a deal, if anybody can figure it out, I'll make sure to read and review their stories. (It's actually portraying a few different messages, so chances are: you'll get it right)- And even if you don't, I think I'll probably end up reading stories of everybody else that reviews me anyway, so PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review! (Feel free to flame)