Black Rose: An Allegorical Piece

Seeking refuge amongst concrete walls, where the rain never shows. I am a rose, darkened by pain and beauty. Evading the sun, surrounded by vines, at times. The clouds open but nothing falls for a black rose behind concrete walls. The smell of spring brings fret to my soul, for my untold story might unfold. A gray orchid stands tall by my side, a dark angel shielding me with lies. Broken glass from the mirror befell, as I evaded the rage that would soon foretell my end. Not a friend, nor confidant is found within the concrete. Beneath the ground lie hidden springs of agony, increasing with each salty tear that falls from the tattered black petals of this battered black rose. Powerful prose written from the soul, no man, woman or child shall ever know with personal regret. But these springs of poison, these tears of pain will shred the wings of this black rose again, with no gain. Silence reigns, like a king with a crown, neither fit nor sound in mind. But because his people are blind, the truth is again locked away in a prison of lies. Will this silence ever grow old? A capable queen awaits the throne, hopeful. But hope should be lost, for it never prevails, like an army of two facing a legion of twelve. The rose never dwells on the past, not when the past-so painful it should be cast into oblivion-is still living, breathing with no purpose, no cause. Or is it because the past of this rose has blessed her with dark prose? No one may ever know, until the depressing day that the soul of the rose is laid to rest. But until then, may all the best prose written by this black rose give something back by words from my hand to the world that never gave a damn.