Juice of Roses
thorn spark pain lashes until it ends
oh! hear my wound, split blood
splash like water fall on the wall
and boil seems in grave,
before the very eyes
my heart grab, beneath the
sorrows in vain
hurts silent the wonderful mood,
where everybody wants to
move, yet! so dark that i
can't touch, the wary heart that
sad it depart
leave me not to your path, sudden
flip, flirts my pub, oh! bring
and guide me, make my way
to the heaven i pray
bladed sword of thorn, rescue
my dignity, fight to the last
as you lead me free, spoiled blood
like cloth in the thread
and point it's direction, set
your vanity
oh, my sweet Roses, Roses whisper
that you are here with me.....
poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Blood Red Roses
Blood red
The roses she'd
Always received
Blood red
Blood red
The sole chroma
Of her world
Blood red
Blood red
Spurted out from
His thorn-like barbs
Blood red
Blood red
Her anguished life
Assiduous
Blood red
Blood red
Her favorite
Shade of roses
Blood red
poem by Alice Vedral Rivera
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A highly valuable chain of thoughts
HAD cigarettes no ashes,
And roses ne'er a thorn,
No man would be a funker
Of whin, or burn, or bunker.
There were no need for mashies,
The turf would ne'er be torn,
Had cigarettes no ashes,
And roses ne'er a thorn.
Had cigarettes no ashes,
And roses ne'er a thorn,
The big trout would not ever
Escape into the river.
No gut the salmon smashes
Would leave us all forlorn,
Had cigarettes no ashes,
And roses ne'er a thorn.
But 'tis an unideal
Sad world in which we're born,
And things will 'go contrairy'
With Martin and with Mary:
And every day the real
Comes bleakly in with morn,
And cigarettes have ashes,
And every rose a thorn.
poem by Andrew Lang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blood Red Roses
Heavens above
What on earth has this come to
What have I done
What can I do now to show you
Theres still a chance
If youre ready to make up
Its not too late
cause Im not ready to break up
I try to call
But you dont hear at all
Im sending roses
Im sending blood red roses
This burning in my heart
Is tearing me apart
Im sending roses
Im sending blood red roses
Youve got to understand
Thats my heart in your hand
Dont walk away
We can get this heart mended
Or am I the fool
And has this love just ended
I tried to call
But you dont hear at all
I gotta keep on trying
To stop this love from dying
Youve got to understand
That my heart is in your hand
Roses
Im sending blood red roses
This burning in my heart
Is tearing me apart
Im sending roses
Im sending blood red roses
Roses
Im sending blood red roses
This burning in my heart
Tears me apart
Roses - blood red roses
Youve got to understand
Thats my heart in your hand
Roses
Im sending blood red roses
cause this burning in my heart
Tears me apart
song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thorn-less Roses
You strip the thorns from all my roses;
they preen themselves
in the Soul Dust
from your eyes.
The brook in my heart
plumbs your depths
rush down
the waterfall
to swirling
rapids below,
tracing the path
to our
Spiritual Sea;
settling there
in the peace
Thorn-Less Roses bring.
There among the sediments
layered over these years
are our hopes;
our dreams;
the children who lay down
to dream each night,
as we once dreamed,
of pretty roses
and deep blue seas.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Fancy bundle of Roses
laid in tears bundle with roses in the wrist line
with hands goggle for wither petals of lovely Roses
scramble feeling settle my knee of dense pain as
the heart, shout tremendously of anguish of nothing
left as I am today
role the pages of time and catch the running
stream for a drink, as the eyes watch the
thundering voice of delightful cry and dearly behold
that death will come to say and depart not to stay
in me, I am still have the pain
Roses are for free, nurturing thorn, bleeds
the trembling hand for that fancy, could be the last
request of my faithful heart, and leave me not my
heart, for only in you I stay and lay my true love
spread the tears of lasting perfume and sprinkle
the fancy Roses of droplets of heart, bundle with
genuine appeal, and turn the lasting friendship
into a window of splendid smell aroma of love,
the climax of my essence stay
propel the scented moist, lovingly gallops my Heart
and Soul ….
poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lazarus Heart
He looked beneath his shirt today
There was a wound in his flesh so deep and wide
From the wound a lovely flower grew
From somewhere deep inside
He turned around to face his mother
To show her the wound in his breast that burned like a brand
But the sword that cut him open
Was the sword in his mothers hand
Every day another miracle
Only death will tear us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
Id be the blood of the lazarus heart
The blood of the lazarus heart
Though the sword was his protection
The wound itself would give him power
The power to remake himself at the time of his darkest hour
She said the wound would give him courage and pain
The kind of pain that you cant hide
From the wound a lovely flower grew
From somewhere deep inside
Every day another miracle
Only death will keep us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
Id be the blood of the lazarus heart
The blood of the lazarus heart
Birds on the roof of my mothers house
Ive no stones that chase them away
Birds on the roof of my mothers house
Will sit on my roof some day
They fly at the window, they fly at the door
Where does she get the strength to fight them anymore
She counts all her children as a shield against the pain
Lifts her eyes to the sky like a flower in the rain
Every day another miracle
Only death will keep us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
Id be the blood of the lazarus heart
The blood of the lazarus heart
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The One With A Silver Thorn (By Mimi C Mata)
With insubordinate step;
You go looking onward
across your pastures...
Where restless roses
lay their heads.
You see that she is no other
than the rose
with a silver thorn.
You know the one
that frightens you,
when you wish to gather
her magnificence
in your hands...
velvet petals; trembling
rolling off to shiver
in other distances...
Submerging her fragrant fragments
in one of the cold lakes
that drown her merciless dreams
for a voice.
You ponder:
and have lost the peripheral
vision in dire quest
for another soul to touch...
And you ask,
Have I fallen in love
with the one with a silver thorn?
And suddenly your darkness pauses
As all the stars shut their eyes...
Every so often blinking
in thoughtful precaution
for the blinded steps that you make,
Towards the one with a silver thorn...
They are silent
they have no answer
they do not know
they do not understand...
Forget their gestures
of leaving you...
For a single thought
twilights a profound desire
for the drowning muddled fate
that beckons...
She awaits;
the one with the silver thorn...
'Forget about the blood sacrificed
for her soul has already died'...
The stars say...
So you jump with unsteady feet
into the mysterious cold lake
to save the one whose stem
your heart wishes to clench...
The one with the silver thorn
Suddenly your darkness pauses
and all the stars shut their eyes
no longer blinking...
They have left you,
They are silent
they have no answer
they do not know
they do not understand...
How your heart wishes to clench
with desire with love
the stem of the one...
With the silver thorn.
My Sweet Red Roses
O my Sweet Red Roses,
For ages I've been searching looking
For my sweet red roses,
Hopping round like a Kangaroo
Hoping to fall in love
With my sweet red roses.
As I firmly
Hold My Sweet Red Roses
Nearest Dearest to my heart
Like Christ born on Christmas Day
Lying in a manger
With eyes wide shut,
Her face incomparable to entire nature.
And as I closely
Hold my sweet red roses,
To myself,
Her wanderlust of holiness
Fills me up
Ushers me to her depth,
And I bear my soul to
My sweet red roses.
By day,
Her smile gives sunshine
Speaking gives life.
And by night,
Living grabs my love
And her very thoughts
Gives me hope.
O My Sweet Red Roses
Even when unconscious
Cannot breath
Cannot feel
Cannot talk
Cannot move nor touch,
It is you I shall continue remain loving,
Because your loving is in the Heaven's
Faithfulness up to the clouds
Beautifulness to the white snow.
O My Sweet Red Roses,
A thousand times I shall care
A million dimes I shall cherish
A billion rhymes I shall honor
A trillion dines I shall spring,
And a zillion miles I shall love
My sweet red roses.
O yes, yes,
My sweet red roses,
Mm yes, yes...
My sweet red roses.
poem by Francis Julian Zewu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flower-De-Luce: Killed At The Ford
He is dead, the beautiful youth,
The heart of honor, the tongue of truth,
He, the life and light of us all,
Whose voice was blithe as a bugle-call,
Whom all eyes followed with one consent,
The cheer of whose laugh, and whose pleasant word,
Hushed all murmurs of discontent.
Only last night, as we rode along,
Down the dark of the mountain gap,
To visit the picket-guard at the ford,
Little dreaming of any mishap,
He was humming the words of some old song:
'Two red roses he had on his cap
And another he bore at the point of his sword.'
Sudden and swift a whistling ball
Came out of a wood, and the voice was still;
Something I heard in the darkness fall,
And for a moment my blood grew chill;
I spoke in a whisper, as he who speaks
In a room where some one is lying dead;
But he made no answer to what I said.
We lifted him up to his saddle again,
And through the mire and the mist and the rain
Carried him back to the silent camp,
And laid him as if asleep on his bed;
And I saw by the light of the surgeon's lamp
Two white roses upon his cheeks,
And one, just over his heart, blood red!
And I saw in a vision how far and fleet
That fatal bullet went speeding forth,
Till it reached a town in the distant North,
Till it reached a house in a sunny street,
Till it reached a heart that ceased to beat
Without a murmur, without a cry;
And a bell was tolled in that far-off town,
For one who had passed from cross to crown,
And the neighbors wondered that she should die.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Roses On White Lace
I saw you in your wedding gown
The prettiest dress
I came into the room that night
And made such a mess
In my own way, I lovingly kiss the bride
With your ring in your hand
Your eyes and your mouth open wide
In my eyes
Blood drops look like roses on white lace
They won't wash away
In my mind they're roses on white lace
Straight from the heart
So dead upon the bed
You hurt me in the deepest way
I'm crippled inside
I took your evil skin away
It's all cut and dried
I saw you tonight and carefully took your hand
With some smears on my cheeks
I knew that you would understand
In my eyes
Blood drops look like roses on white lace
They won't wash away
In my mind they're roses on white lace
Straight from the heart
So dead upon the bed, still searching for your head
They're never gonna find your face
It's hidden away
I found a very special place where you used to play
In my own way, I lovingly kiss the bride
With your ring in your hand
Your eyes and your mouth open wide
In my eyes
Blood drops look like roses on white lace
They won't wash away
In my mind they're roses on white lace
Straight from the heart
Blood drops look like roses on white lace
Crimson and sweet, stained on the sheet
Roses on white lace, pretty in red, dripping and wet
Roses on white lace, spilled on the walls, dark in the hall
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Killed at the Ford
He is dead, the beautiful youth,
The heart of honor, the tongue of truth,
He, the life and light of us all,
Whose voice was blithe as a bugle-call,
Whom all eyes followed with one consent,
The cheer of whose laugh, and whose pleasant word,
Hushed all murmurs of discontent.
Only last night, as we rode along,
Down the dark of the mountain gap,
To visit the picket-guard at the ford,
Little dreaming of any mishap,
He was humming the words of some old song:
'Two red roses he had on his cap
And another he bore at the point of his sword.'
Sudden and swift a whistling ball
Came out of a wood, and the voice was still;
Something I heard in the darkness fall,
And for a moment my blood grew chill;
I spoke in a whisper, as he who speaks
In a room where some one is lying dead;
But he made no answer to what I said.
We lifted him up to his saddle again,
And through the mire and the mist and the rain
Carried him back to the silent camp,
And laid him as if asleep on his bed;
And I saw by the light of the surgeon's lamp
Two white roses upon his cheeks,
And one, just over his heart, blood red!
And I saw in a vision how far and fleet
That fatal bullet went speeding forth,
Till it reached a town in the distant North,
Till it reached a house in a sunny street,
Till it reached a heart that ceased to beat
Without a murmur, without a cry;
And a bell was tolled in that far-off town,
For one who had passed from cross to crown,
And the neighbors wondered that she should die.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow from Flower-de-Luce (1867)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The Dole Of The King's Daughter (Breton)
Seven stars in the still water,
And seven in the sky;
Seven sins on the King's daughter,
Deep in her soul to lie.
Red roses are at her feet,
(Roses are red in her red-gold hair)
And O where her bosom and girdle meet
Red roses are hidden there.
Fair is the knight who lieth slain
Amid the rush and reed,
See the lean fishes that are fain
Upon dead men to feed.
Sweet is the page that lieth there,
(Cloth of gold is goodly prey,)
See the black ravens in the air,
Black, O black as the night are they.
What do they there so stark and dead?
(There is blood upon her hand)
Why are the lilies flecked with red?
(There is blood on the river sand.)
There are two that ride from the south and east,
And two from the north and west,
For the black raven a goodly feast,
For the King's daughter rest.
There is one man who loves her true,
(Red, O red, is the stain of gore!)
He hath duggen a grave by the darksome yew,
(One grave will do for four.)
No moon in the still heaven,
In the black water none,
The sins on her soul are seven,
The sin upon his is one.
poem by Oscar Wilde
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beauty
I pricked my finger on a thorn
and saw my blood run red.
I winced but focused on the rose
beside the thorn instead.
For pain is nothing compared to beauty.
It's just a temporary phase.
But the rose beside the thorn that hurts
is worthy of all praise.
I pressed the rose inside my book
so that it would last.
I saw the thorn that pricked my finger
but the moment of that had passed.
For lasting pain recedes in time
but beauty stays with you.
Now as I reopen the book once more
It's only the beauty I view.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Winter Sunset
Roses in the sky,
Roses in the sea
Bowers of scarlet sky-roses
Take my heart and me.
God was good to make,
This December weather,
All this sky a rose-garden,
Rose and fire together.
To the East are burning
Roses in a garden,
Roses in a rosy field,
Hesper for their warden.
Yonder to the West
Roses all afire,
Mirror now some rare splendid
Rose of their desire.
Pulsing deeper, deeper,
Waves of fire throb on,
Never were such red roses
At sunset or dawn.
Roses on the hills,
Roses in the hollow,
Roses on the wet hedges,
In the shining fallow.
West wind, blow and blow!
That has blown ajar
Gates of God's great rose-garden,
Where His Angels are,
Gathering up the rose-leaves
For a shower of roses
On the night the Lord Babe
His sweet eye uncloses.
All the sky is scarlet
Flaming on the azure.
O, there's fire in Heaven
My heart aches with pleasure.
Leagues of rose and scarlet,
Roses red as blood:
All the world's a rose-garden.
God is good, is good.
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Vanity Of The Creature Sanctified
Honey though the bee prepares,
An envenomed sting he wears;
Piercing thorns a guard compose
Round the fragrant blooming rose.
Where we think to find a sweet,
Oft a painful sting we meet:
When the rose invites our eye,
We forget the thorn is nigh.
Why are thus our hopes beguiled?
Why are all our pleasures spoiled?
Why do agony and woe
From our choicest comforts grow?
Sin has been the cause of all!
'Twas not thus before the fall:
What but pain, and thorn, and sting,
From the root of sin can spring?
Now with every good we find
Vanity and grief entwined;
What we feel, or what we fear,
All our joys embitter here.
Yet, through the Redeemer's love,
These afflictions blessings prove;
He the wounding stings and thorns,
Into healing med'cines turns.
From the earth our hearts they wean,
Teach us on his arm to lean;
Urge us to a throne of grace,
Make us seek a resting place.
In the mansions of our King
Sweets abound without a sting;
Thornless there the roses blow,
And the joys unmingled flow.
poem by John Newton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Monk's Walk
In this sombre garden close
What has come and passed, who knows?
What red passion, what white pain
Haunted this dim walk in vain?
Underneath the ivied wall,
Where the silent shadows fall,
Lies the pathway chill and damp
Where the world-quit dreamers tramp.
Just across, where sunlight burns,
Smiling at the mourning ferns,
Stand the roses, side by side,
Nodding in their useless pride.
Ferns and roses, who shall say
What you witness day by day?
Covert smile or dropping eye,
As the monks go pacing by.
Has the novice come to-day
Here beneath the wall to pray?
Has the young monk, lately chidden,
Sung his lyric, sweet, forbidden?
Tell me, roses, did you note
That pale father's throbbing throat?
Did you hear him murmur, 'Love!'
As he kissed a faded glove?
Mourning ferns, pray tell me why
Shook you with that passing sigh?
Is it that you chanced to spy
Something in the Abbot's eye?
Here no dream, nor thought of sin,
Where no worlding enters in;
Here no longing, no desire,
Heat nor flame of earthly fire.
Branches waving green above,
Whisper naught of life nor love;
Softened winds that seem a breath,
Perfumed, bring no fear of death.
Is it living thus to live?
Has life nothing more to give?
Ah, no more of smile or sigh--
Life, the world, and love, good-bye.
Gray, and passionless, and dim,
Echoing of the solemn hymn,
Lies the walk, 'twixt fern and rose,
Here within the garden close.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Loneliness and Cries
How can the sky be so irreverently blue?
There shall never be a heavenly hue
that will ever fill my eyes.
For all the skies have been replaced
with sullen forms of cloudy shapes
that form, preventing any escapes
from loneliness and cries.
How can roses be so irreverently red?
When to me their vibrancy is completely dead.
Rather that their thorn prick my heart
and allow my withering blood depart.
For all the velvety touch they give
should not be present while I live
with loneliness and cries.
How can the grass be so irreverently green?
There shall never be a verdant scene
that will awaken my eyes again.
For all the grass that grows outside
is a dried up patch where I reside.
And there's no fleeing this emotional scene
of loneliness and cries.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Egg cell in the Egg yoke
peace is what the heart wish, wanted to dream and unlash
the trembling dream to unify the daring struggle as the world
offer the newness of time; amidst the uncertainty of each
moment
stand beneath the golden ball of sun passing my eyelids of
fear, the glittering flame engulf my deep sleep in the middle
of the night, my dear love one soundly nap in my lap; listening
my sweet hymn of a wonderful goodbye; with a flashing of
lightning speed up my face i close
say i stop flashing my ball, stay my side, where I stare my
angry heart, wait i go and lay, never return with empty handed
of blood, catch the rolling fire in my hand its dry, as tear fall to
the ground and the grave leave no mercy, the darkness has come
without me, i am the total surrender of the flesh I love seeing
death in the soil you return
a game without a same, as you play, everybody gain the
glooming world to flame; the wonderful great light exploded in
the amazing world of misery as the end stop to begin and each
one never be the same, for today becomes the past to pray
open your heart again, listen the heart that sing in harmony
with a child that whisper the winning voice of great super power
of pain; remember that; like a wind the dust follows each
direction of no where to go, leaving the shadow of you in the
memory of the ray that always stay in the blooming flower of
a beautiful garden of creation
be a man of today, follow the wisdom of the heart and lead
the future of a wonderful sky to fly............
' stop, look and listen, nuclear super distribution is not the
answer of an angry world to live, open be a man of God,
lead the world of harmony of love '
poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Pain Inside
My heart has died
theres a pain inside
my stomach aches
my head pounds
and my wrists bleed when no ones around
i dont know why its there
this pain hurts so bad i cry some times
not wanting to see day
nore wanting to be around
its like im in a black hole
falling till i hit the ground
my tears fall like fresh red blood
i shake as if i am cold
my eyes are dark as i sit thinking
your memory runs through my head
STOP my heart screams as i slow down
my heart slows
the shaking stops
everything freezes
but my mind still thinks of you
and my tears still fall
poem by Sandy Vanity
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Nightingale and the Rose
The song, it echoed sweetly
This melody of purity so fine
To cause this bud to life
To cause this rose to form
The price to pay… the thorn
This precious price to pay with life
Pressed against the heart of purity
So pure this gentle heart
For in the name of love was formed
This rose so red, so rare
And with this blood so red
This sad song so sweet this night so long.
Until the thorn so sharp did pierce
This gentle feathered heart
And spilled the blood to form
This red rose, so rare.
And as her song of love grew faint
And as her life it spilled unto the rose
The dawn approached to quicken this endeavour
Lest this rose of love be less than perfect formed
As wilder grew her song so sweet of love
As bitter grew the pain as life it ebbed
So slowly born this death that does not die
So one heart grew the other passed away.
Borne on the wind this melody of song
This song so sweet to cause to life
This rose of blood, of love, of pain and tears
And yet so easily cast into a gutter.
poem by Mike Shanahan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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