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The Screaming of the Virgin Rose

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A nothing little knot, both nude and unknown,

rose to the surface as the sun shone.

She suckles its rays like a baby does its mother,

but other than the sun, she knows no other. 

She finds bliss in her ignorance,

which is peaceful in effect.

She is like the ripples in a pond,

both diligent and direct. 

The solemn spring brings forth beautiful things

untarnished and impoverished like the diamonds of a ring,

but the virgin rose enters a bitter hour. 

The pressures of the rain are too strong for such a flower.

Her petals wither and her roots sour

as she hears herself,her thoughts, her screams,

her heart, her plea,her voice, and her dreams. 

She feels her pain, her hurt, no gain.

She blames herself, and lives in shame.

Her inner sweet has been poisoned painfully.

Her inner heat has been hardened heinously.

Lilacs listen and berries bow

To what was once a Virgin’s vow. 

She has now experienced what cannot be undone.

She was raped and left with nowhere to run. 

She is only a child, and no one knows.

Her innocence has been stolen,

and it no longer shows. 

Unaware of adolescent anguish,

And between deeper demons, she cannot distinguish.

She sits in horror with screams of sorrow,

And a fierce fear of what comes tomorrow.

To her, out my heart goes.

I weep for this girl,this child, this once pure rose.

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