Writers 
Under the morning light, roses flourish.
Lovely, soft, fresh, and brilliant.
Hidden within their lovely petals, though,
Are thorns that prick without any regard.
Is this the center of every guy, then?
With wicked intentions and fantasies of good.
We grin like flowers in the sun.
But fight disputes that no one else is aware of.
Sin may seem like a lovely flower,
Appealing in its growth.
It promises delight, enjoyment, and advantage,
But leaves an indelible anguish behind.
A selfish deed, a careless word,
A clandestine idea inspired by greed,
A lie we tell, a heart we break.
Sin can cause tiny seeds to develop.
But roses require rain to flourish,
And injured hearts require grace to flow.
We confess and turn away.
Each day, God's compassion fortifies us.
His forgiveness may keep us in check.
Our sins may be profound, but no matter how deeply they are ingrained,
We may be liberated by his tender love.
Let the rose serve as a gentle reminder:
A tale to tell can conceal beauty.
Select what is correct; allow goodness to emerge.
And let your sins under the sky.
Each scar and each thorn
The heart may be touched by God's healing love.
