Monday, March 30, 2009


I am a thorn,
No beauty intended,
Prickly and cold,
Staying away is recommended.

I can't be pretty,
My pain can be pinching,
Get to close,
And you'll need no convincing.

My job is simple,
I'm the obstacle to get by,
I protect the better,
Now I'm questioning why.

Reason one would stop at the thorn,
I do not know,
But on the way up to the top,
Some do stop before they go.

In the last while,
I've learned to accept my position,
Sure, it makes me cry,
But I see no quick transition.

I know I really shouldn't,
And I haven't up until now,
but why should I pretend,
I have no 'wow.'

I have nothing in fact,
That's what separates me from above,
That's why I get left behind,
When we test the love.

Those budded above, they like me,
They give me my pride,
For the overall effect they need me; why?
Of course; the protection I provide.

They get all the attention,
I'm just a prop,
That they throw around,
To harvest their crop.

I'm just a thorn,
prickly and cold,
no beauty intended,
not delicate, but bold.

But why complain?
There are lots of us,
Those who lead up to others,
For us there's no fuss.

I'm not the only one who feels like this,
I know there are more,
Am I any different?
Or are we all an equal bore.

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