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Archive for July, 2006

The rose, blushing crimson in the face of the dawn,
recollects the night spent in the hands of two young lovers, pledging and
pawing,
until she lay cast aside and forgotten:
a warning against fickle love.
Bruised and brushed away, she hides her beauty among the swiftly falling
shadows to cover her shame,
for roses are wanton flowers.
They are always desirous of being desired, though each knows her fate once
plucked by an amorous hand.
Thus this blossom must now remember the cries of passion
as she withers in the panic of decay.
Oh! the fate of this most beloved of flowers!
How sad is the dying of a lover’s promise;
and how much more so the dying of a life lived only to symbolize that
Promise!

Careless dandies plucking lives for the taste of blood red flesh,
and hope of touching velvety skin
rip each blossom from her lifeline, dooming one life to bring pleasure to
another.
Women receive these gifts with the grace of a princess,
and the nonchalance of a murderess.
So in this way we stumble upon the nature of Love.
Love was the true viper in Cleopatra’s bosom,
the blade in Achilles’ heel,
all the Chaos that escaped Pandora’s grasp,
the downfall of every charming, pleasant young swain,
the ruin of even the most enlightened young ladies.

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