Dark Muse
06-27-2010, 12:20 AM
She Told Me Her Name Was Lily
She told me her name was Lily
but I discovered once it was too late
that she was a rose all along.
I saw her first dressed in white
dancing upon the beach with
hair that was golden as the sun
and eyes reflecting the depths of the sea.
Her skin appeared delicate and soft
and she smiled with all the innocence
of a new born world.
She seemed to me a fragile thing,
with child-like expressions
that flashed before the wind
which I feared would sweep her
away like a vision.
But later I would uncover,
the temptations of a rose are that
which offer only an illusionary
vulnerability.
Where a lily may bend within the
breeze, and if stretched too far
crisply snap in half.
Such a soft caress upon the skin,
a touch of velvet to the lips,
they offer no resistance.
A rose remains unrelenting,
blooming in colors of passion,
yellow like her hair, red as the light
of fire upon her cheeks when the
moment is caught right, and pink
as her skin before the burning candlelight.
And alas a rarer breed, black as the heart
she held inside behind her eyes
that all too soon could turn to ice.
For like a rose, she lured with sweetness
but when drawn too close, she was covered
in barbs.
How quickly she would turn to cruelty
and slowly her charm began to show
its tarnish.
She told me once her name was Lily,
but I realized too late that she was
a rose all along.
She told me her name was Lily
but I discovered once it was too late
that she was a rose all along.
I saw her first dressed in white
dancing upon the beach with
hair that was golden as the sun
and eyes reflecting the depths of the sea.
Her skin appeared delicate and soft
and she smiled with all the innocence
of a new born world.
She seemed to me a fragile thing,
with child-like expressions
that flashed before the wind
which I feared would sweep her
away like a vision.
But later I would uncover,
the temptations of a rose are that
which offer only an illusionary
vulnerability.
Where a lily may bend within the
breeze, and if stretched too far
crisply snap in half.
Such a soft caress upon the skin,
a touch of velvet to the lips,
they offer no resistance.
A rose remains unrelenting,
blooming in colors of passion,
yellow like her hair, red as the light
of fire upon her cheeks when the
moment is caught right, and pink
as her skin before the burning candlelight.
And alas a rarer breed, black as the heart
she held inside behind her eyes
that all too soon could turn to ice.
For like a rose, she lured with sweetness
but when drawn too close, she was covered
in barbs.
How quickly she would turn to cruelty
and slowly her charm began to show
its tarnish.
She told me once her name was Lily,
but I realized too late that she was
a rose all along.