Rose Painting

I stole a rose the other day
And sat it on my desk
With every breathe
And with subtle stealth
I tried to paint
And paint is what i did.

At first it was an easy task
How bright shone that rose
My pencil dove onto the paper
And my whole world froze

I captured the shape
And what made it attractive
But somehow someway
Its bright red color was still active

I cannot fathom how terribly wonderful this rose was
The clear, precise definition of life
HOWEVER, i could not capture its very essence
Nope, not every little section.

Because at first that flower was the best.
No others could compare
A first glance
Quickly becomes a stare
How gleaming this one particular rose was
Simple and plain: NOT FAIR

It tickled my soul
Taunted me with its quirks
With each passing day
Hard became the work
I tried to paint a rose that day
and thats all i ever did

that fresh rose was so beautiful
Well the dead still is.