Back when the king sat on his thrown
He would yell, mumble, threaten and groan
Until that one day when a witch said "Hey"
She handed him a rose that made him so gay
The servants would hide to sneak a peak
The rose was beautiful yet it was so weak
Petals fell and the stem did break
But still its beauty it could not fake
As time went on a protective coat grew
And when the king touched it he found something new
Along the stem were sharp little daggers
He quickly despised them and called them jaggers
They protected the rose from death and hate
The king loved his rose but the thorns were its fate
YOU ARE READING
Words Unspoken
PoetryFrom pain comes passion, from passion comes inspiration. These written words may not make sense, may not fit well, but they are real. Real pain and passion created these. Read each and learn a bit about me and my past, present, and future. Cover by:...
