Hallucinations

Should I not be scared of a rose without a thorn?

Most likely they are only better hidden; perhaps they, camoflaged by the venom of desire, are waiting to plunge and sever. Or maybe they really are too small for my trained eye.

I'll submit that I am in truth scared that a rose cannot grow with a weed by her side. But I can only be content knowing there are those with a taste for weeds for so long. I can only be content a weed for so long.

Therefore my battle is waged on the avenue of fate. Two courses but no direction. Either content that fate wil finish what it started and barring that neglect its potent beginnings a conclusion fruitful or tragic. Or, for once, take the reigns of destiny and chase the sun. Could be I take heart in the former, or chances are I am, as habit, paralyzed.

-Dan