A black rose,
balancing tentatively,
alone,
swept carelessly
by the wind,
taunted,
by the rain,
splashing across
its soft, velvet surface,
shimmering and
reflective,
the morphed world
gliding past,
an ethereal form.
The black rose,
continues on its
spiral journey,
not wondering
the why or where,
its purpose,
not important,
as it balances
on a precipice,
a knifes edge of choice,
one it has no say in,
merely,
blown by the wind,
a black rose
on a black coffin.
YOU ARE READING
Dawns mutterings
PoetryCompilation of poems, inspired by natures bounty. We are of the earth, so it is only fitting that it in turn inspires us. Although much of my poetry is in some way inspired by nature this small compilation highlights just how much it impacts all I d...
