The rose is black
it’s petals bleed
Nurtured from a
poisoned seed
Thorns that prick an
innocent soul
Extracting parts from the
whole
Stem so long, sinuous
beauty disingenuous
The rose is black
it’s petals bleed
Symptom of a
hopeless need
Symbiotic with
it’s dirt
Vines entwine with
pain and hurt
Dark as night
it sits alone
Wind blows by
protracted moan
The rose is black
it’s petals die
No riddles solved
no answers why
The stem it wilts
folding in
Forgetting all
unwanted sin
The thorns they weaken
fall away
Knives discarded
where they lay
Time deceives a
wicked soul.
Returning parts
to make it whole