We’re like the rose
Elegant with beautiful imperfections
Though highly respected
sometimes are neglected
When those petals shrivel into a dark crisp
And it’s life has seemingly been ended

But you see the rose and how it grows
Only lord knows how long it will have it’s life
It buds as a small flower and blooms into a majestic work of art
Praised and worshipped by men
Used to sweep them off their feet and woo women
but when they dry and shrivel up are trashed into a bin

What if we cherished a dark midnight rose
With dark stiff petals that are perceived to be dead?
What if we accepted that a rose is still a rose and a beautiful symbol for how we in our own lives too will grow?
Stunning and bold, full of color and life but one day our ripest of petals will soon fall off.
The rose is but a symbol of our hearts.
Not a measure of how we live and die in this life.

We are the roses.
For surely it is roses that grow from the depths of our hearts and reflect the love from which our souls shine.
And when those roses are in their prime be sure to share them and spread them all over.
There’s a flicker of light in the eyes of the reciever. They will be delighted and smitten by this grand gesture. A rose can make them a believer.

Be the roses.
Be that symbol of love and appreciation that you hope to fill the hearts of others.
Be the roses.
And one day you too shall recieve your own.
Be the roses.
Cause roses don’t die.