The Rose and the Sword
by Mandy Barncord-Doerr
A rose creeps around a sword
Her thorns as sharp as his blade
Deep green with scarlett
She encircles the bright steel
Just out of reach of the razor edge
Afraid to come closer
Yet dazzled by his brilliance
Which calls her ever closer
Like a moth to a flame
Craving warmth from the chill of the night
From the cold darkness of loneliness
Destruction calls
Or so people say
But is the flame really as hot as it looks?
Is the blade edge really as sharp?
Or is it all illusion?
Like her thorns and wings?
Copyright © 1999, Amanda D. Barncord Doerr