The Harlequin Makes Roses
Yet roses have thorns, that make you bleed.
The Harlequin Makes Roses
The harlequin walks with a mask of red,
Roses where a face should be.
People smile, they stop and stare,
They never think what they can’t see.
She hands out flowers made to fool,
Tied from ribbon, thread, and air.
They look like love, they feel like more,
however there is nothing there.
She doesn’t speak of who she was.
She never tells her name.
She moves like someone half-awake
Inside a quiet game.
She leaves no trace, she brings no fire.
She doesn’t miss, or try.
She watches others hold their hearts
And never wonders why.
At night she counts the things she’s made
A dozen lies, and a smile.
She tucks the mask beneath her coat
And walks alone a while.
The roses fall, the colour fades.
No one asks her to stay.
No one saw the girl beneath.
They only saw display.
So if she gives a rose to you,
Don’t think it means she’s kind.
She learned young to fake her love
Now she is emotionally blind.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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More stories from Marie381Uk and writers in Poets and other communities.
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Comments (2)
You're always bringing us fascinating poems with wonder. poem written, you have Out outstanding performance
The haunting undertones mixed with moments of tenderness really resonate — it’s like the poem captures both the fragility and the resilience of life.