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Thorns torn from the rose
Delicate petals
Only a few can hear.
Their silent, unheard.. albeit, wailing tears 

A tear, be it silent
Yet, there are some, which can hear.
A master, no matter how rich
He can only, draw so near.

It should be such
The beauty once given
Now to be sought
Man, who careth not
A man who kindles.. a soul detached,..
Removed thoughts, such men no not

Be it a rose, or be it a thorn
May the beauty once taken all
Not once, nor twice, 
Yet thrice.. again.

Such be now the thorn
Ripped once from your heights
Now sealed from man's sight...
No longer shall you drown in silent, invisible tears

Words are simple, for some, may you hearth say
Other's, there are those who will always silent, stay
But to whometh, that, I cannot say.

Yet one thing words will forever find in common,.. 
Like the thorns ripped from a rose
Torn, by those who knows of such forlorn, long years..
Only to stand close.. not knowing 
How far.. you now stand near!

Words, such as your petals
Scattered
Now only by the wind
Shall always tell the truth..
No man is thine master

Words, many seem to those so simple 
Yet for others..
Thay, will always hear..

Drop slowly now your petals
As do the thorns, once torn from your spears
Once felled 
Now sealed
Behind the walls, of your once,..
Wailing, and Invisible tears.

-awrj