As Love Dies

How could it be I never saw the thorns,
"Til they had bit me- purple, fragile, pale.
Now lying here in anguish, torment,
"How can it be-how can it be?"
The love was always hidden there.
It still remains, though tortured,
Waiting evermore to bloom again,
Wash off the wine and crimson,
And try and hope and see,
The scarlett flower has died.

A crimson rose the thorns have pierced me,
Where I feel him here- I bleed
The blood runs slowly on, anon,
I feel it dripping, flowing, going,
Flowers beauty never seen.
Bent in the sultry august wind,
"Where did he go-where has he gone?"
Laughter means nothing for blood covers all.
I bury it secretly with him
The scarlett flower has died.

No flowers of blue or season for me,
Only red, crimson and violent,
Emptiness and endless void.
Never knowing, never showing
"Where he went-where does he go?"
The trees are gray and sap runs red
Through my sterilized heart.
Don't cry for me or ask me why
The scarlett flower has died.

It is and never was, the flower,
The promise, stealing whitely
Going nowhere, only nowhere.
It is here lying in purple weeds,
And waving grass of green.
Dreams broken, never spoken.
Yet, in my dreams a crimson rose
Rises and blooms, as hopes die,
Again and again- now tell me how
The scarlett flower has died.

Here it lies and tries to raise
It's weak and floundering head.
I cannot move- I watch it
I am frightened to see it's hope
Letting go, letting go
Reaching out I pull it
All roots and thorns and love.
In the box it sighs and cries- denies,
I bury it sadly with him
The scarlett flower has died.