Frail Rose Of Beauty

Frail Rose Of Beauty
© Surazeus
2026 02 20

Unbidden by grim councils of desire, 
our uncorrupted rose of beauty blooms 
beneath the starry dome of eerie hope 
with fragile petals of our mortal hearts 
that breathe strange sweetness of celestial love 
in anguished hush of timeless twilight glow. 

Sweet rose of beauty blooming from my heart 
demands no vote from politics or creeds, 
nor bends its head to banners in the square 
where people march with mindless fear of death, 
since sunlight is the only law it heeds 
and air is divine gospel of its breath. 

Pure rose of beauty thrives within stone walls 
where truth protects it from the strife of power, 
safe from brazen trumpets that bruise the sky 
when flaring colors blind the loyal eye 
and gilded emblems fool the heart to lie 
in obedience to grand lord in the tower. 

Shackled by demands from profiteers 
to conjure illusions of wealth from death, 
frail rose of beauty learns the cunning tongue 
to sing of glory forged from iron flame, 
so she strums lyre by ideologues restrung, 
shouting loud praise that masks clandestine aims. 

No wise artist could transcend dire disgrace 
when grace of their chisel is pressed to carve 
brave brow of the tyrant in marble mask, 
nor bold brush of the painter schooled to glam 
scenes of noble deeds that never occur 
which trick the multitudes to bow with awe. 

Firm hand of the sculptor, that once released 
ideal soul of the hero from bright stone, 
and trembled at bright gleam of mortal sorrow 
with passion to depict beauty of man, 
now labors in directed trance of fear 
where truth is trimmed from sacred myths of faith. 

Yet deep within our secret-breathing grove, 
where refugees from war seek healing peace, 
the nightingale, unbriefed by state or throne, 
expresses holy hymn of sacred love 
that proves respect for all forever blooms 
in bold cadence no doctrine could intone. 

For bright in every human in this world 
our conscious soul, from pageantry set free, 
drinks beauty of community we share 
from stream of truth the Earth provides for all, 
not by harsh trumpet of conformity, 
but in choir that blends all voices in tune.