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Poem I wrote recently. I'll explain what it's about at the bottom.

I once had a dream
Of a beautiful rose
Blood red,
With flecks of snow.

The rose bloomed and grew up
Knowing it was beautiful
Revered by everyone who saw it
Never wilting.

Undamaged, pure
It stood in an open field
Among flattened, hopeless flowers
Until that day.

The day like any other
It came out from its nighttime slumber
Ready to soak up sun
And be admired by passers-by.

But one person in particular
Found this rose so exquisite
That he plucked it from its place of joy and comfort
And stroked it with his dirty hands.

The rose stung him with its thorns
Trying desperately to stay in place
But it was too late
And so it was left on a flower pot in his home.

Dirty, crumpled, and close to letting itself die
The rose struggled to plant its roots in the soil of the pot
And succeeded
But the poor, dear rose was never the same again.

So there it stood
The rest of its life, no longer revered or longed for
But damaged and dirty
Unable to regain the wistful feeling of freedom.

Okaaaay, so remember when you were a kid, and you felt so confident and free, like you could do or be anything? And how everyone used to tell you how much they longed to be like you? And you didn't understand, because you wanted to grow up. But now you do. Now you understand that sometimes, ignorance is indeed bliss. That is what this poem is about.