Looming like a ghostly silhouette,

Under the setting sun.

Miniscule thorns, hiding with no fret,

Sharp and lethal as a gun.

Beautiful yet deadly,

Nimble yet strong.

Weak but ready,

Alone–never in a throng.

Everyone has their weapons, lorn.

What lurks beneath charm–nobody knows.

Life–the rose, eventually comes to scorn.

Does it… will it show?

Be careful, nobody knows how sharp;

Your mind–your enemy, can warp…