The silence that holds me still
Allows me not to feel
The gentle warmth of this coming spring
Why is it that I cannot bring myself to see
The beauty that is me
Here in this rhapsody of truths and lies
Is a sight that is grander still
Than the darkness that saps away my strength
It is the sight of a rose
Though beautiful its thorns are sharp enough to hurt
Those whose hearts have turned to stone.
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