When the pressure builds on your shoulders
And you’re on the verge of breaking
Let me be your first call
To stop your voice from shaking
When the nights are achingly short
And the days seem to drag on
Know that I’ll listen to all of your worries
Until the crack of dawn
When you find your life is hostile
And the world is harsh and cold
Remember that you are fragile when alone
But together we can be bold
When these days are long passed
And our memories become foggy and strained
I hope you’ll remember your friend in high school
That cared for you when it rained
When we grow old and tired
And our days are filled with regret
We’ll look back at these high school years
And friends we hope we won’t forget
I’ll be glad I had thanked you then
For shielding me from the eternal storm
And wish that we'll meet in sunlight soon
Where we are not our thorns
A repertoire of thorns.
Beseeching for care.
A Circuitous motif.
Awaiting to flourish.
Serrated dirk it may be.
Rooting on sullied galaxy.
Appeared with instilled animosity,
But hidden is an abyss of ever-flowing magnanimity.
Dandelion spirit, and a thorny rose fighter.
You can't go carelessly picking up flowers without expecting one to be a biter.
For every petal that wilts, you'll get a sting.
Prickly thorns clinging to every single thing.
Nature can be soft and sweet, but in every beautiful landscape there is a nearby guarding beast.
You cannot deceive flowers, for you are already deceived.
The petals sheild a warrior, and their sword is hungry to feed.
I love when people,
think they can do no wrong.
Think they're in charge,
of everyone else's fate.
Hurt just feel
a sense of superiority.
when you play with fire,
you will get burned.
And if you play with a rose,
you will get the thorns.
Petals, plucked by "he loves me"s and "he loves me not"s,
Roses, the symbol of perfect love and eternal beauty.
Such a bright vermillion, matching
Such a dulcet aroma with
Such a charismatic lust
Emerging from layers of velvet.
Maiden's lips resemble it so, as if
Nature graced it with its own paintbrush.
Drops of dainty words and heavenly sighs escape like
Drops of dew in the calm of light at dawn.
A scent of eros romance
Rings around her neck and wrists, able to
Entrance any passersby.
Beauty of those able to challenge Aphrodite,
Whom wishes to lacerate gradually,
Fueled by hatred and jealousy.
Fair, both skin and hair.
Poise as an angel with a
Face to match.
Eyes say otherwise, however.
Yes, she is a rose, but
Even roses have thorns.
Dirt roads are like mazes
Wrapping around in never ending knots
Till you find the path that leads to your destination
My life is a dirt road
Forever going in circles
With no end in sight
I cannot find the path right for me
Every time I think I found a good one
The thorns end up ripping me to shreds
And I am left to sew myself back together
I am stronger because of the rips the thorns cause
Soon I will find the right dirt road that I have been searching for