The Rose Cried

The Rose Cried

The single rose cried all alone
and sought for someone who would come
to brave the pricks and pain
that kept away the soft and gentle hands
which could caress its blooms…
If not for the thorns.

The thorns -they stand in the way
of gentle touch and tender kiss
and precious things so true.
Let someone brave the prick and the poke,
and give the rose new hope…
Despite all its thorns.

Is there love enough in you
to brave the thorns and come close by,
to touch the bloom in me
despite all the thorns that make you bleed
and cause you pain so deep?
Please come risk the thorns.

Response Poem by Jeremy "Jazz" Caffey

Untitled

I heard the cry of a rose,

and I went to see.

The rose was love.

It seemed beautiful to me.

I risked the thorns;

the rose I caressed.

I suffered the thorns;

my hands a bloody mess.

I held onto love;

it’s worth the pain.

The rose was torn from me

while it’s scent still remains.

My hands are torn and bloody;

and, now the tears, they start.

These wounds, they do not heal.

These wounds are in my heart.

This rose, it has withered,

Petals lying on the floor.

But should these thorns bloom again,

I’ll reach for love one more.

By Jazz Caffey 9/19/2001