The Thorn of the Rose

The thorn of the rose that you had gifted me
Is as fresh as the wounds in my heart
Still bleeding, still aspiring, still pursuing.
The thorn had not only pricked my palm
But also refreshed the memories of our lost love
The wounds won’t heal anymore
The Hours have passed away,
And the thorn still pricks me
Piercing through my flesh,
As you had pierced my soul
Trying to reach my blood,
As you had reached my heart
Resting there and not trying to come back
As you had rested in my mind,
And finally leaving the last imprints on my skin
As you had left your touch on mine
Imprints of the thorns are trying to dry
But the tears shed, will never do.
The thorn still pricks my heart, soul and mind,
And will always be fresh till the end.