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Joel 4d
How beautiful is the rose

That I watch and admire

Unsightly thorns cling

And I lose my desire

Though thorns are still green

My sins are sightless still

Of greed, gluttony and envy

That may cloud my mind and will

But all humans sin deep inside

And all roses have thorns too

If all human sin is green,

Does that make love and virtue red and blue?

If all humans are unsightly thorns

Then we sin-filled humans will be blossoming roses too.

Because as the crown rests on his brow

Us thorns cling still, crucified now.
The thread thee warp
shadow shall shade so
as silken cradles fade though
So soothing that I
lost the rest soaring

Fool’s gold never seems to keep its shine
as if shiver sun ray never stray
until down it bends
until up it flicks
Naively flow with waves of velvet and thorn
not until finding them its own.

Tuned tile, aged alley, clouded cement,
welcome
wander the sunlight
setting feeble rose and blue
adorning tranquil ardent and alive
soothing sacred faint to find floods of glow
announcing alienated savage to shelter sprouts of soul
23:01 May 7, 2024. In Beijing.
Usha Sep 22
She sat in shadows,🌹
a rose pressed in her hand,🌹
mocked for her darkness,🌹
yet brighter than the land.🌹

I called her Black Beauty,🌹
and she would softly smile,🌹
hiding a universe of grace🌹
in her heart all the while.🌹

“Roses taught me,” she whispered,🌹
“that thorns cannot erase,🌹
the fragrance of true love,🌹
nor the soul’s quiet grace.”

Upon the stage she blossomed,🌹
the world began to see,🌹
what I had always known—🌹
she was the rose to me.🌹
we are always happy
JAMIL HUSSAIN Sep 12
I am but dust in colourful silken dress,
Yet I was sent to heal, to touch and to bless.
Where words divide and swords increase —
Let fragrance speak the song of peace.

In gardens torn by human pride,
I bloom where peace and hope have died.
And if you breathe me, still and deep,
My scent shall wake what hate would keep.

So lay your weapons, hush your tongue —
The world is old, but love is young.
And through the quiet, let me be
A rose of peace for all to see.
A Rose of Peace 12/09/2025 © All Rights Reserved by Jamil Hussain
A shy rose smiles, a blush of dawn,
A whispered secret, softly drawn.
I, son of wood, with words so keen,
By witch-mother, a mystic scene.
A thousand whistles, sharp and clear,
To rouse the trees, dispelling fear.
And when I call, with voice so low,
The roses answer, soft and slow.
A tender love, a whispered sigh,
As petals bloom beneath the sky.
A silent dance, a gentle grace,
In nature's heart, a hidden space.
The morning dew, a diamond sheen,
Reflects the light, a perfect scene.
My witch-mother, with eyes so deep,
Her wisdom whispered, secrets to keep.
The wood awakes, a verdant hue,
As love and beauty, fresh and new.
The shy rose smiles, a blush of gold,
A story told, a tale unfolds.
Beneath her gaze, the heavens stir.  
Each syllable, a glowing ember’s blur.  
She weaves the wind with quiet grace,  
Carves poetry in the moon's embrace.  

A witch’s son, her craft I see
A rose blushes with her decree.  
Her whispers, soft as dawn’s first light,  
Transform the stars to flames of night.
Reece Aug 29
In every field of roses,
There is one that is golden.
It shimmers and glimmers in the light,
From the Sun in the morn, and the Moon at night.
Its petals are glamorous.
Sometimes they reside inside a forest.

There’s always a bee,
For every golden rose.
The hive sees nothing,
Only the chosen bee knows.
A game played since time began,
The game of love, where few seem to win in the end.

He had found his golden rose,
They had grown rather close.
Her golden hair sparkled in the light,
Whether throughout the day or at night.
She was…glamorous,
And they bought a house near a forest.
Life seemed to be going well,
He had her and never thought of anyone else.
But sometimes bees cheat at fate’s game,
And the golden rose was a victim of this plague.

The bee came home one night,
Light emanated from the bedroom.
The bee opened the door,
And he lost everything that he could lose.
His golden rose was with another,
They had been together all night.
Evidence all o’er the floor and the king-sized bed.
They were in the bathroom,
Showering with the new, pristine shower head.

The bee had been played for a fool,
False gold covered the rose he was devoted to.
All at once, her shimmer faded away,
Her petals wilted as they decayed.
The rival bee held onto the rose,
As he kissed her on the nose,
The fool had been planning to propose,
To his supposed…golden rose.

For every bee there is a golden rose,
But there are many fakes, covered in fool’s gold.
They crush the bee, make them lose their wings,
And leave nothing but heartache that stings.
Don't be fooled by the fool's gold.
Nails of the master’s reach...
No way out, no returning to innocence.
The bullied beat, the bullied beat...

Knife of the master’s heart we twist round -
Nails scrape for us... but it’s useless.
You are your own rose running, sweet one, smoker...
And they’re stale in their master’s keep.

Don’t need to keep the master beneath us...
In these vertical, breath-short windows, they are the beat-less...

And you stare straight through them.
Smash their hearts with sugar...

A life that keeps no secrets... far from the master’s weakness.
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