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Array
(
[sid] => 33375
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The first rose of spring
[time] => 2004-01-31 23:03:55
[hometext] => inspired by the poem "the white rose" posted on this site
[bodytext] => As I look apon my crisp bed covers, still straight and smelling like the dryer I see that first white rose of spring staring at my with all the sweetness it brings "how dost thee landith here" I ask "apon the bed in which I lay, if I grab thee I know the truth, your thorns will cut me dispite your beut' " I look around my bedroom now where is the person that gave my this I am not worth this awsome gift this white rose with petals like bliss and I feel in my searching the a cool chill of a person watching I look inside my closets, bare I franticly search, for I am scared I look and look and look some more and still the rose sits there like a beautiful sin I am not sure what to feel, fear and panic or loved and wanted I am no beauty or anything special just a girl, with brown eyes and blond hair I need a tan and I don't own a dress my lips are chapped and my nails aren't done finally I sit, across the room with my head in my hands I just stare at it behind me a breeze, soft as a whisper I am afraid to turn, I know the giver is there a hand moves my hair softly from my neck a gentle kiss he places and then tells me so sweetly "that rose is a gift to you my love, tis pale as the scars you hide inside, tis shaped as perfectly as the mask you wear, it's truth I give you darling, maybe someday you will be free from your hurt" with that he is gone, I cannot even glimpse his face, but his truth is in front of me, in the form of the first white rose of spring [comments] => 3 [counter] => 250 [topic] => 48 [informant] => lessa [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 3 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => EmotionalPoetry )
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