The waters of a time gone by begin their journey;
Into the earth, through the vines that stare blankly;
Reaching the hungry roots of the crimsoned flower;
They gulp the waters, the nutrients they devour;
At journeys end they begin their relentless ascent,
Touching each tendril, they bind with their cement;
The barren ground, high above, begins to ripple,
As the twisted vines emerge and begin to bristle;
Reaching to the sky, to the eternal damning light;
A silenced beacon hangs over, deceitfully bright;
Feeding the buds, each one filled with dreams,
They begin to hatch, each filled with hope it seems;
With freshly opened eyes they look upon the stars,
A virgin night, a dazzling light that forever scars;
It was born from darkness but thrived with hope;
An innocence that strengthened and made it cope,
Reflected deep inside, upon the mirrored pools,
It whispered the sounds, the silence of fools;
Now burnt by the eternal light of this twisted lie
Its petals, curl, shrivel and begin to slowly die;
The deep colours of the rose faded and vanished;
Lingering memories of old that are now banished;
Broken images of life, painted by strokes of reality;
Essence of the dream, now erased by blinding clarity;
Waters from the crimson heart now dilute the colours,
As the soured sorrow defiles the taste that now bitters;
Broken dreams now fade and blend in the shadows,
And with a crimson tear, now sleeps in its gallows;
The tear begins to mix upon this hallowed ground,
to begin once more the journey, upon which it's bound.
