Secret Lore or ........

Contemplations of a Rose

As the rose bathed in the morning sun,

It contemplated man's nature on this earth.

"When a man pulls the trigger on a gun,

What does he think of? Death or Birth?

The death of the man lying limp on the floor,

Or the birth of a trigger happy breed?

The world is full of blood and gore

And the children tend to follow the hand that doesn't feed."

This the rose contemplated,

About the role models of this world.

The poor rose truly hated

Violence in the true sense of the word.

The rose sadly accepted the fact,

That bloodshed cannot be avoided.

It is a part of life, and an act,

That must be committed.

"The world has changed so much.

'Diplomacy' ought not to be a word

For it no longer exists as such.

It is threatened by a gleaming sword,

Ready to stab 'diplomacy' in the heart.

The angel turned vicious enemy.

The glue that kept the world from falling apart.

The death of which will be man's biggest felony."

The rose took a deep breath and coughed.

It stared into the bright sunlight,

Then down at the soil newly ploughed.

Little did it know of its unfortunate plight.

From afar, a small 'click' could be heard,

And a solid object whizzed through the air.

It attacked the rose in its very heart.

And only a drop of blood was left there.

The above poem was written by my aunt (Runa) when she was fifteen.Even Keats would be proud of this compostion.