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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