Humanity, a rose as fragile as glass

I raised the rose from the ashes of despair. The thorns piercing my skin, but i held it tighter. I whisper to it: "a beauty such as you does not belong in this wasteland". For it did not. A rose grown from ash. The most beautiful of its kind. The ashes dispersed yet the shadows grew: "why do you take this rose? Do you not see how it pierces your skin? How it eats at your flesh? It is ours and ours alone. It does not require your assistance". The shadows hiss as i answer: "I will not let you take this rose as you had once taken me, with my life i guard it. For it is too precious to fall into your hands." The shadows lay low and watch me leave their retched domain. The delicate flower, forever holding the essence of humanity, lives on within me to this day.