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The Beauty that Cannot be Saved
I have been handed a rose
By instinct, I touch the petals to my nose
And yes, the sweet smell pervades
But thorns steal the blood from my veins
Its features I try and admire,
What's the point when I know it will cause hellfire
Everything I touch seems to crumble to dust
No longer inviting, no longer can I trust
Every day a new petal falls
And I can hear the agony in its calls
But the irony is that it cannot be saved
Because everyone to its beauty is a slave
A warden protecting its tall green castle
No one can seize it, at least not with facile
At the top a deep red damsel awaits
But not even a prince could change her fate
The thorns have vanished, forever gone
Meanwhile, life still carries on
Laden with sorrow, the petals depart too
It’s thorns were only there to let the beauty shine through
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This rose has an expiration date, and its thorns are only trying to protect itself. Meanwhile, we tend to have trouble looking past these thorns to see it's true beauty.