there is no rose
that has not thorns,
no bloom that does not sting.

there is no beauty
deep and red
that stays pure past the spring.

all beauty and all elegance
in turn will be displayed
in tones of blood and bite and steel.

for budding love and peace and truth
in time shows its true name. the red is blood,
not love, once thorns it does reveal.

it's said "nothing gold can stay".
nothing red can either. it fades and dies and leaves behind

and scars.