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| Black Rose |
| Looking at my black roses sitting upon my crimson dresser,
I feel a pang deep within the walls of my heart; How most see the black rose as evil and poisoned, But in a darkened room can you still tell them apart? Does not the red rose have thorns which tear as well? The petals of the black rose, are they not as soft and velvety? Their physical appearance, to you might not be as appealing, But to me, they are known as dark beauty. They look depressing, I will admit, But it�s that darkness that draws me in, Every time I look at those roses, they seems to tell a sad story, Of longing; death; loneliness�. Just a few things I imagine. To me, the black velvet petals hold secrets and mystery; But to pluck them away it would mean its early death. Do I want to know the secrets, or stare at its endless beauty? I choose the latter, while imagining the secrets in their depth. I breathe in their scent, knowing how shortly it will fade. Try to store it in memory, to savor it for a bad day. I could never get tired of admiring their grace, Even when it�s time, and they begin to die, their beauty never completely fades away. � copyright 4/11/06 Melia Teka |
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