Endless Words, Endless Opportunities, Forever Poetry

 All roses have thorns Each thorn a mark of the journey Each thorn a sign of growth  A sign of perseverance  A sign of strength The thorns protect the delicate flower   If it weren't for the thorns, the beautiful flower above would never blossom People are like roses in a way  Perhaps our thorns are what allow us to be beautiful  Perhaps what some call imperfections are actually our greatest strengths for survival   

 And in that moment she died.  This death was not physical, it psychological and borderline spiritual.  This death freed her of all the chains that tried to hold her below Death rid her of the pain and baggage she had been carrying giving her instead intense determination  With one final dagger to her heart she set what once was on fire  As the flames rose so did she, a new being  Out of the flames came a woman with no fear With her once soft heart turned cold, no man would ever break her again.  She would sit on her thrown atop the ashes and rule her empire as the queen she was born to be.