Hidden

Big, fat, red roses, rich of color and smell.
Also have sharp thorns, which of you can barely tell.
From afar you can stare with much delight,
But attempt to grasp, and jump with sharp fright.

Beautiful birds fly freely through the endless sky,
Giving birth to two babies, knowing that one must die.
If you think they are playing, then you are deadfully wrong,
For one must always be weak, and one must always be strong.

A painting of a woman, the artist's dearly beloved,
She died falling off a cliff, he hides it was he who shoved.
The only reason he did, is because he loved her so much so,
Neither of the two could bear her pain, so downward she must go.

What is truth but a different version of a lie?
What is life but a process through which you die?
If you fail to stare long enough, the details you will miss,
I sit and ponder the age old myth, is Ignorance truly Bliss?

If you never try, then you never may know,
For every thing in life has a story to show.
If you fail to seek, then you fail to grasp,
Left alone, with only yourself to clasp.

If you hide yourself away, you shall surely never be found,
But exposure leads to wonder, where only the ground may bound.
If everything you discover, you analyze at first glance,
You shall be but another actor, on this stage, the world, to dance.