A rose made of blood
where the thorn cruelly cuts me
blossoms in my palm.
I, a rose...made of flesh...blood
rivalling thorn's red flower.
tanka by Dónall Dempsey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Thorn
We both lie silently still in the dead of the night
Although we both lie close together
We feel miles apart inside
Was it somethin' I said or somethin' I did
Did my words not come out right
Tho' I tried not to hurt you
Tho' I tried
But I guess that's why they say
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
Yeah it does
I listen to your favorite song playin' on the radio
Hear the DJ say love's a game of
Easy come and easy go
But I wonder does he know
Has it ever felt like this
And I know that you'd be here right now
If I could have let you know somehow I guess
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
Though it's been a while now
I can still feel so much pain
Like the knife that cuts you
The wound heals, but the scar, that scar remains
I know I could have saved our love that night
If I'd known what to say
Instead if making love
We both made our separate ways
Now I hear you've found somebody new
And that I never meant that much to you
To hear that tears me up inside
And to see you cuts me like a knife, I guess
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
song performed by by Unseen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every Rose Has Its Thorn
[Originally by Poison]
We both lie silently still in the dead of the night
Although we both lie close together
We feel miles apart inside
Was it somethin' I said or somethin' I did
Did my words not come out right
Tho' I tried not to hurt you
Tho' I tried
But I guess that's why they say
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
Yea it does
I listen to your favorite song playin' on the radio
Hear the DJ say love's a game of
Easy come and easy go
But I wonder does he know
Has it ever felt like this
And I know that you'd be here right now
If I could have let you know somehow I guess
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
Though it's been a while now
I can still feel so much pain
Like the knife that cuts you
The wound heals, but the scar, that scar remains
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
So I hear you've found somebody new
And that I never meant that much to you
To hear that tears me up inside
And to see you cuts me like a knife, I guess
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
song performed by by Unseen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Only One Horrible Thorn
I like to cry and throw a fit
Even the dark day I was born
I am a sad and drooping rose
With only one horrible thorn
I did not like people around
I would sit, curse at them and scorn
I am a sad and drooping rose
With only one horrible thorn
My heart could never feel the love
Deep inside I felt sad and torn
I am a sad and drooping rose
With only one horrible thorn
People still tried to get close to me
I would open my mouth and warn
I am a sad and drooping rose
With only one horrible thorn
I will never show a smile
This is an oath that I have sworn
I am a sad and drooping rose
With only one horrible thorn
But the day will come, I will die
Then haunt people after they mourn
I am a sad and drooping rose
With only one horrible thorn
poem by Paul Celano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why blame the thorn?
Why blame the thorn
the rose needed it..
when a bud
to protect from plucking hands
when blossomed
safe from suckling bands
the rose slept
while the thorn crept
wildly adept
upon the petalling fingers
when the rose aged
and sees no reason
for the thorn's missions
now the rose
ready to free
from the plant
and adorn the world
hates the thorn
that accompanies it.
poem by Lalitha Iyer
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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The rose that bares no thorn
The rose that bares no thorn
~
How beautiful and pure
How sweetly kind and innocent
How loving to look upon
The rose that bares no thorn
Gentle to the tender touch
Pleasing to the hearts own eye
Of all that is beautiful
Is seen and known with joy
Seasoned into memory
To grow and flower once more
Let love be known and named
Then kept forevermore
As natural as the morning dew
So still, sweet and innocent
Never to cut or hurt
The rose that bares no thorn
Is a love in full bloom
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who said what is there in the name
Just change a letter
In the name of a person
Who just now made history
By winning an election
In the most powerful
Democracy of the world
You end up with
A person
Who keeps threatening
The very existence of
The mankind
In the name of
Protecting the interests of
A particular believers
The former rose steadily
To what he is today
And won the hearts of his
Fellow countrymen in particular
And of the world in general by his
Inspiring words of wisdom
While the latter
Sprang to limelight and
Drew the attention of the world
By massacring thousands of lives
In a single attack
In the very land of the former
If the former is democratically elected
The latter is demonically nominated
If the former is in an attempt to
Strengthen the bond of human love
The latter is severing the same
In the name of faith and following
If the former is for development and growth
The latter is all set for destruction and death
As the same plant
Strikes a rose and a thorn too
The human race has
Both the former and latter
Yes, rose is a rose is a rose is a rose
And thorn is nothing but a thorn
Who said what is there in the name?
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Rose's Soul
Not every Rose's Thorn
draws blood;
some Loves prick the very soul;
yours did mine;
being more intimate
because of who I am
or was
is now
neither my self
nor thorned bloody rose
destined not to be
myself
without my once treasured
now revealed to be no longer
Individuality-
we sometimes learn
in our latter age
is much overrated.
Those who cling
to the isolated self
most often suffer the Rose's Thorn
ignoring
unaware of its flowered soul
smelling nothing
of its perfume;
it's gifts to be is granted,
it seems
only to those
willing to flow
welcoming
Commingled Being
not demanding
that love
not
change
our individuality
because surely
that is what Love's
Best
is intended to do
and most often does
even if not wanted
or recognized.
Love's History
for good or ill
is always
the same;
where ever you go
or whomever else
you love
those you have loved
keep part of your soul
joyous or sadden;
whether we acknowledge
this or profess to deny
Love's True Mark
is not its blood
but its soul
which can never die
even if sometimes
Love does.
Summary says:
We are helplessly
all the people we have ever loved.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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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Where Are Your Roses
Tell me friends, where are your roses?
A blooming rose pricks me with its horn andI let a cry sweet,
”Oh rose I love you”.
In this garden of pests and reptiles
Who grows this rose of just one thorn?
That is born to prick me alone?
Never do I get an answer
But the gardener throws a smile at me.
He thinks that I love this rose.
An idea springs off at last and
An answer redeems me at times.
There is no rose without a thorn.
Tell me friends, where are your roses?
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Rose
A Rose without its thorn
Would keeps its gentle form
With its fragrant scent
Being as it was meant.
But without that painful thorn
Sorrowfully, I would sit and moan
For a Rose wouldn't be a Rose
And a smile couldn't be known.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not For Attar
How hard is your heart
To squeeze the Rose
That smiles amidst thorns all around
And call its essence a scent
Wear the flower on your hair
Present the rose to your beloved as Valentine gift
Have mercy on this gentle and sweet flower
Don't smear its blood as scent
And Ladies and Gentlemen, for your kind information
Rose is not made for Attar
Rose is not just a flower
Rose is QUEEN of all flowers
Appreciate her fragrance and elegance
Do not squeeze for essence
And always adore Her Excellence with reverence
poem by Kavin Charalan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Every Rose Has Its Thorn
We both lie silently still
In the dead of the night
Although we both lie close together
We feel miles apart inside
Was it something I said or something I did
Did my words not come out right
Though I tried not to hurt you
Though I tried
But I guess thats why they say
Chorus:
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
Yeah it does
I listen to our favorite song
Playing on the radio
Hear the dj say loves a game of easy come and
Easy go
But I wonder does he know
Has he ever felt like this
And I know that youd be here right now
If I could have let you know somehow
I guess
Chorus
Though its been a while now
I can still feel so much pain
Like a knife that cuts you the wound heals
But the scar, that scar remains
Solo
I know I could have saved a love that night
If Id known what to say
Instead of makin love
We both made our separate ways
But now I hear you found somebody new
And that I never meant that much to you
To hear that tears me up inside
And to see you cuts me like a knife
I guess
Chorus
song performed by by Poison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nature's Rose
As the vast nature
blinds the eye by its beauty
the trees grow taller
the grasses grow greener
The animals grow more peaceful in their natural habitat
But none grow as beautiful as the red rose
As the red rose grows day by day
I walk by it desiring to pick it
Sitting and waiting for the petals to grow more mature
To grow and show off the beauty of the rose
Years go by and the rose is almost grown
This special rose is different from the rest.
Others grow, beautify, and die
While this one grows year after year
The blood of the rose is pure
as it flows up and through the beautiful flower
But the rose has not completed its growth
I run my hand down the body of the beautiful flower
Shedding my blood from the sharp thorns
I grasp the flower and thrust it from the ground
As my blood drips, the blood of the flowers does so too
The red of both mix and mature and fall to the ground dropp after drop
The smell of the flower overtakes the pain
This is Nature's Rose
The Thorn That Grows
The thorn that grows beside the rose
can let its prick be felt.
It also is a sharp reminder
of the pain that can be dealt
to the lover of beauty
that takes no care
to adore the rose
but not beware.
For all the beauty in the world
lies side by side with pain.
And all the glories of what you love
cannot always remain.
I do not languish myself with pity
nor do I live with pride.
But to live in fear of pain that comes
is to believe that beauty has died.
The thorn that grows protects the rose
as love protects the heart.
But if the thorn is missing
might not the rose depart?
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who Will Heal This Wound?
With all the carefulness I could muscle
I went for the rose, the red beautiful rose
Ouch! The thorn struck,
The sharp spike-like thorn struck
The heart pierced, spilled the contents
The wound has refused healing
The rose, the red beautiful rose, stares unseemly and unconcernedly
Who will gather the contents?
Who will heal this wound?
poem by Obed Akuma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Compensation
I plucked a rose from out a bower fair,
That overhung my garden seat;
And wondered I if, e'er before, bloomed there
A rose so sweet.
Enwrapt in beauty I scarce felt the thorn
That pricked me as I pulled the bud;
Till I beheld the rose that summer morn,
Stained with my blood.
I sang a song that thrilled the evening air
With beauty somewhat kin to love,
And all men know that lyric song so rare
Came from above.
And men rejoice to hear the golden strain;
But no man knew the price I paid,
Nor cared that out of my soul'd deathless pain
The song was made.
poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With Rose In Hand
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
1
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
1
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.
1
poem by Meg Harrison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sweet Horn
WHAT is St. Francis' flower? 'T is not
The daisy nor the melilot,
Nor that white little flower that springs
In Grasmere's quiet garden-plot.
'T is not the lily-flower that blows
In some high heaven of repose.
'T is not the sorrow of the thorn,
Nor utter passion of the rose.
It is the wild-heart eglantine,
(Sweet bush to a far sweeter wine),
With joy for man, sweet-thorn for Christ,
Not pagan all, not all divine.
poem by Philip Henry Savage
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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