The Rose

And like a flower,
Petal after petal
The color seeps away
To rest and dye, below-
Looking up at the failing
Beauty

A tear, falling from the unsoiled cheek
Of an innocent girl
Who's turned around just to be slapped
By the hand, the hand she once
Loved to clutch
And feel its warmth

And as the petals brown
To match the hell
To which they fall
The flower grows
In lack of strength, and beauty
And loses what was once glorious
For the cruel trade of life
And death

An angel, falling through the clouds
Because the wings she lost
To the two faced bastard
Now rest in the hands
Of an incompetent sentience
Addicted to the idea of his own pleasure

Finally there's nothing left
But a grey and brittle stem
A memory of a time long past
Where life was grand
With moist color that reflected
It's divine scent radiating its brilliance
And from all the pain,
There is a chance of return
Too the beautiful being it once was
The perfect embodiment of existence
The rose.



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