Living freely lacking consequence
So naïve, young, a child of Aphrodite
Roses brimming with new found opulence
Soft thorns soon to harden, touch lightly
The rose was lost to all that is pure
Its thorn pricked its first victim, unforgiving pain
It pierced your skin, forget the original allure
Turn around victim, walk away. Blame
Yourself for venturing to trust
But Aphrodite’s child sought only pleasure
The analogue weakness was meaningless lust
Thorns piercing you, victim, at relative leisure
What’s the use in regretting those daggers of thorns?
They have already grown, damaged the innocent
Daggers of pain hide the rose that mourns
Alone. Fortunately ostracised. Learning to repent.