Petal Nine
The Black Rose
here it is,
the black rose.
once was a magestic rose of the raven,
now, out of strength,
out of hope,
out of life.
alone in the forest of the dead,
the raven's rose ruled over all that flourish.
like a sky that has bled,
like a diamond in the rough,
like an oasis in the desert,
now, like the dust on a rock.
oh yes, the raven's rose ruled them all.
no growth can outgrow,
no light can be brighter,
no joy can be happier.
now, no sorrow can be sadder.
for the rose of the raven is forever living.
to withstand the test of time and space.
it can not dry out or wilt.
and because of this,
its very soul wishes against it's will.
like a dead salmon washed out of a stream,
like a ruffled leaf blown out by the wind,
like a spirit that was never meant to be.
but through all this pain of the rose,
it must carry on.
for it can not die.
out of life, it is,
from the inside, it is.
no more the bright light of the forest.
no more the colors of the rainbow.
no more the majestic rose of the raven.
no more than a rose.
just a rose.
a black rose.
-FIN-
posted by raven's rose @ 18:45
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