Power, The Beautiful Rose

Deceitfully detached with the hands of love,
Away from my friends, the source of joy,
I still dish beauty without defiance.
Though used, dumped, and mixed with the dust,
with darkness crawling into my soul,
yet, my grains shall rise again through the soil

– like a rose from the concrete.

I win the heart of the toughest, without a sword or battle.
Though I play the role of a slave, fenced in by my master
Still, I’m the Lord, and my holder is the slave,
because he’s trapped in my beauty,
and even while I’m gone, I remain rent-free in his memory.

not stressing,
not shouting,
not struggling
still shining,
yet living,
no doubt, I define power.

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