One lone rose on a bush,
no one to sway with, no one to play with,
only itself to cry with.
One lone rose, clipped from the bush,
no one to sway with, no one to play with,
only itself to cry with.
One lone rose, in a vase on a table,
out of reach of the water it needs, no one to play with,
no one to hear its cries.
One lone rose, crying,
no one to love, no one to say good-bye,
no one to see it… die.
Tags: Loneliness, Rose
A tender red rose lay bleeding;
Painfully torn from lover’s hands.
It’s delicate life force pleading,
and yet, no one heeds its demands.
Red rose turned to saddened blue
as it shrivels up forgotten.
Sharp thorns harden in one’s view
as the red rose lay; rotten.
Sweet death becomes a rose
and pictures morbid curiosity.
The color bold once, now goes;
Faded then darkened ferociously.
Black rose of sacred night
When love lay vividly dying
Was reborn from true love light
And fed on happiness crying.
Still beauty clings to the rose
In all of silence; muddy glory;
Only the heart of the lover knows
the true passion turned black story.