The story of a rose

How does a rose feel
When its part of a corsage
surrounded by many beautiful flowers?
Does it feel a part of something pretty?
Or is it confused of its own identity?

The rose has gained a lot of fame
Been given a role in many a tale
Its been the pride
of the poet
of the bride

Its been symbolized for love
for passion
for pain
Its been painted in the spring
and washed in the rain

Does it feel alone
and crushed when shown
against orchids and gerberas
and colours unknown?

Does it feel like the world
has turned a blind eye
To its beauty and story
No truth and only lie?

Does it feel betrayed
by the poet's love,
The romantic's kiss,
And the friend's dove?

Or does it become a more radiant red
As if wounded by its thorn and bled.
Does it hold its own and shine with pride
For being a rose with a flower on each side?

Does it allow itself to blend in with the others
And create magic beyond its solitary powers?
Does it smile at beng a part of the dream
And yet hold its own when placed with the cream?

With the best of the colours and textures around
It doesn't droop and fall to the ground
Does it know that even when its surrounded by the best
It might be picked up to put a heart at rest?
That even when picked from this crowd of colour
Its red will shine with passion and valour.

A rose can hold it own when cast
On a coffin, on a coat
In a bouquet, in a vase,
In the garland that's put on the lovely bride
In the pages of a poet looking for his pride

A rose means so much
no matter where it goes
Nothing's more red, than the red,
of a pure bred rose.

Ultimate power

The strongest weapon known to man
The one that silences all
The one that hits the hardest
The one that kills the soul

The most powerful potion
is not brewed with eyes and spells
It can turn make one fly through heaven
It can make you feel like hell

The most influential people
are not those who kill or buy
Those who live to dominate
Will never learn how to cry

The strongest weapon known to man
is not the pen or the sword
Its not the power of controlling lives
That makes or breaks the lord

A raised hand that can bring cheer
A smile that can cure it all
The words that cause a heart to brake
The truth that makes me fall

These silent yet potent concoctions
Can be an elixir or a bane
They can lift the soul to eternal bliss
And play with the minds of the sane

Its not money or muscle
Or the minds of the brilliant few
Its a matter of the heart when it comes to power
That controls everything we do.

This too shall pass...

What do I ask of you?
What do you want me to be?
A sea, the mountain, eternity;
The journey’s not easy
So I know
But it will not help
If you let go
And test the rope
Whether it shall hold
The beauty to the beat
The meek to the bold
As you do not test the sun
Whether it’ll light your day
You don’t test the rain
To wash it all away
There are some things in life
That are meant to be
The sea, the mountains, eternity
You have faith in the sun
To light up everyday
You trust the rain
To wash it all away
No questions are asked
No fires burn
Of doubt, of disbelief
At every nook and turn
So trust this time
It too shall pass
And we’ll look back at it
Through the looking glass.

Where dreams come true

If you can spare
a minute of two,
I'll tell you of the place
where dreams come true.

I was lead there by a friend
who always knew,
the way to the place
where dreams come true.

His eyes shown bright
with the dream that he drew.
Close to his heart,
near his faith and virtue.

He decided to tread
this path no one knew
that lead to the place
where dreams come true.

Many dismissed him as a dreamer,
many laughed at his guile,
many said that his faith,
wouldn't last a while.

But he held on fast,
he held on strong.
He kept going,
too far too long,

He gave up the chains
that the world called gifts.
He let go of all
that each of us lifts.

And he walked into his dream
and lived it to the end.
And they applauded all that he accomplished,
Without a foe or a friend.

They called him a hero
Because like him there were few.
But all that he'd done
was made his dream come true.

While he was dreaming
he had opened his eyes
and believed that what he saw
even though unreal and unwise,
was true and could happen
if he just gave it a chance,
and let the world be the audience
that is unseen when you dance.
This audience is only seen
When they applaud your art on stage
But while you're performing
They are engulfed in a dark haze

So when I tell you that dreams come true
In this mystic magical land
I'll point out that this place exists
In the palms of your hands.