I don't know how it got there but it hangs upside down;
Once as alive as you.
I do not like
That all of the blood has drained to its head
Through its protective stem;
Crimson dripping off of its wax leaves.
The petals,
Perfectly closed and concealed,
black instead of red,
Keep bringing the nostalgia of you.
We cherish you through the form of a slaughtered rose
And keep its lost beauty
As a keepsake
Of your lost life.
A black rose for a colourless end
(and a spectrum of reminiscing).
-by holly boyd
YOU ARE READING
Words We Cannot Speak
PoetryPoems; Woe and hope, love and despair Poems mend us, they repair. Broken souls mixed with broken minds, Poems teach us what it is to be alive. They offer thoughts to inspire. They give us hope to aspire, They answer unanswerable questions They offer...
